<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Analysis of Brutus by aedusa</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017741">The Analysis of Brutus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aedusa/pseuds/aedusa'>aedusa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:48:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aedusa/pseuds/aedusa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether or not Draco Malfoy was on their side really didn't matter. In the end, Harry would be the one to kill him at the smallest sign of betrayal. If only he could.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sectumsempra</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry sent a frustrated glare towards the ugly tapestry opposite him, previously he would have laughed at the ridiculousness of a woven Barnabas the Barmy cowering before the trolls clumsily twirling about in the pink ballet garb, but now it only served to mock his failed attempts of entering the Room of Requirement. For what could have possibly been his millionth attempt, Harry fiercely concentrated on different variations of the mantra, which would allow him access to Malfoy.</p><p>
  <em>I need to see what Draco Malfoy’s doing in here... I need to the place where Draco Malfoy keeps coming secretly... I need you to become the place you become for Draco Malfoy... </em>
</p><p>The small sliver of hope he desperately clung to that this time he would succeed, that this time he would discover Malfoy’s surely malicious plans, vanished the moment his feet came to an abrupt halt and his eyes fluttered open to see the firm, doorless, stone wall that he had hoped he wouldn’t. Harry’s hard glare traced the creases in the stonework of the wall as if he could somehow will an entrance to appear before him. Then, sharp pain flared across his knuckles, when his fist slammed into the heavy stone that his eyes had assessed not a moment earlier. Harry regretted his outburst almost immediately, it was, after all, useless in the way that it did nothing to solve the issue ever so present in Harry’s mind, and it did nothing to satisfy his anger towards Malfoy, towards his friends, towards Dumbledore, towards Voldemort, towards everyone who looked at him like some kind of saviour. Like the Chosen One. It was an almost laughable notion. How could any sane wizard entertain the thought that he, a mere child, could possibly overcome the most powerful dark wizard of the modern era? Not when he could not even figure out where a snivelling, spoiled sod like Draco Malfoy had been disappearing to all this time.</p><p>Defeated, Harry let out a huff before sinking down onto the frigid castle floor and reaching into his robes for the Marauder’s Map in one swift motion. He pulled out the still blank, folded piece of rectangular parchment. Pressing his wand so that the parchment wrinkled under his pressure, Harry muttered the familiar oath, <em>“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” </em></p><p>At once, ruby red ink sprung from the map’s centre to create the schizophrenic master plan of Hogwarts. Harry shuffled through the map, quickly scanning for Draco Malfoy’s identifying ink blotch. For a moment, when he failed to locate Malfoy, Harry felt certain that Malfoy currently resided in the room hidden behind the wall his back was currently pressed against; but then, his eyes finally settled on Malfoy’s dot, which resided in the boy’s laboratory, not surrounded by his usual gaggle of Slytherin lackeys, but by Moaning Myrtle.</p><p>Harry leapt to his feet and hastily barrelled through the corridors with his eyes still firmly glued onto Draco Malfoy’s name, only to redirect his attention when he tumbled downwards alongside an elaborate steel-plated suit of armour. The thunderous crash forced him out of his internal musing concerning the odd coupling. Scrambling to his feet, Harry fled from the corridor, leaving the crumpled mess of steel and bejewelled golden armour-plating in his wake lest Filch appeared to obstruct his investigation with the promise of detention. Harry continued down the marble staircase, almost tripping on his lengthy robes when he reached the last step but steadied himself without breaking his hefty strides towards the laboratory door.</p><p>For a tedious moment, Harry stood before the dark, wooden door with his ear pressed firmly against the crack between door and stone; however, had he not observed Malfoy’s name lingering beyond the door, he would've thought the dead-silent laboratory to be unoccupied. So, Harry discreetly pushed the door open to be confronted with the sight of Malfoy hunched over a gloomily white sink with what hoped was cool water pouring over the edges, escaping to the tiled floor below. Had Harry not been so preoccupied with the fact it was Malfoy whom he was spying on, he would’ve noted how his sickly face twisted in a painful scowl, how his pale spider-like hands desperately gripped the edges of the sink, how his normally prim and proper presentation had been bastardized by a sloppily buttoned shirt and an ugly sweat stain that trailed down his back, and, most upsettingly, how his limp, white-blond hair fell dishevelled around his face as his head remained bowed. It was a stark contrast from the properly groomed boy that had relentlessly bullied Harry for as long as they had the displeasure of knowing each other.</p><p>“Don’t,” crooned Moaning Myrtle’s voice from somewhere out of sight, “Tell me what’s wrong... I can help you.”</p><p>“You can’t help me. No one can help me,” sniffled Malfoy. A tremble possessed Malfoy entirely so that it was a small miracle whatever strength he had prevented him from completely folding in on himself. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to,” continued Malfoy through piercing sobs, “I don’t want to kill... and unless I do, he’ll kill me... My family... But, I... just can’t.”</p><p>The meaning of his words barely registered in Harry’s mind, who stood petrified at the sight of the bewildering scene set before him. It seemed unimaginable that Malfoy was crying—actually crying—with heavy tears streaming down his reddened cheeks and joining the flood of water that rose from the grimy basin. Harry wanted to laugh. Had he seen Malfoy absorbed by such anguish at any other point he would have, but standing there, watching Malfoy hurt alone, hidden away from his peers, felt painfully familiar. Normally, he would’ve taken some twisted sort of joy out of Malfoy, the boy who had harassed Harry and his friends so intensely that Dudley would’ve idolised the blond; Harry wanted to feel joy. Merlin, he wanted to sneer at Malfoy just so he could find pleasure in knowing that he could make Malfoy hurt like Malfoy had done to him all these years, but Harry was surprised when he had found no pleasure in seeing Malfoy in this pathetic broken state. In fact, a traitorous part of his mind instead urged him to comfort Malfoy and disgust settled in his throat at the mere idea, so instead he just awkwardly watched the pale body continue to sob and gulp in between pleas for some divine guidance.</p><p>Then, he was drawn from his confusing reveries when with a pathetic shudder, Malfoy raised his eyes to see his reflection in the mirror that hung cracked and dirtied above the sink. Stormy grey clashed with the brilliant green eyes of their nemesis, and Harry knew that Malfoy had finally noticed his intrusive presence.</p><p>In the time it took to appariate, Malfoy had reeled around into an uncompromising stance with his wand aimed at Harry. While Harry instinctively dove to his left and whipped his wand out of his pockets in a fluid motion. Malfoy’s hex landed where Harry had been standing not even a second ago, leaving an ashy mark across the stone wall. In response, Harry thought <em>Levicorpus! </em>and flicked his wand towards uncombed blond hair, hoping to demand answers from a restrained Malfoy, but Malfoy blocked this jinx and raised his wand for another—</p><p>“No! No! Stop it!” squealed Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. “Stop! STOP!”</p><p>A deafening bang brought Harry’s attention back to Malfoy and the metallic bin behind him erupted wholly into angry flames that scorched the walls and floor, which surrounded the dying fire. Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy’s ear and obliterated the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who shrieked loudly and dove into the toilet’s plumbing, most likely retreating to the Prefect Bathrooms where she could barricade herself from quarrelsome students; water sprung from the destroyed cistern, flooding the floor and joining the puddle of soapy sink water that collected under the sinks lining the walls. Harry rushed forwards, planning to tackle Malfoy while the boy stood, transfixed by the ever-increasing amount of water, but slipped before he could reach his target. Malfoy’s head snapped towards Harry’s charging form, his face contorted and cried <em>“Cruci—” </em></p><p><em>“SECTUMSEMPRA!” </em>Harry roared from the floor, waving his wand wildly and without caution.</p><p>Malfoy froze, his arms went limp, letting his wand slip from his weak grip, and he crumpled soundlessly to the now waterlogged floor. Harry unmoving watched Malfoy, uncertain of the true effect of the spell he had stupidly cast without first researching it. Then, he watched as dark, cranberry red liquid mixed with the water, of which Malfoy was submerged, to create wispy smoke that travelled in all directions, staining the floor with that wine-red colour.</p><p>Blood. It was blood. It was Draco’s blood.</p><p>Realization finally hit Harry like a rocket launch and he desperately clamoured to Malfoy’s side. With shaky hands, he unbuttoned Malfoy’s once pristine dress-shirt to be confronted with deep slashes that ripped across Malfoy’s chest and abdomen as if a swordsman had ruthlessly attacked him. In a way, that <em>is </em>what had happened.</p><p>“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Harry weakly murmured, brushing a deathly white strand of hair from Malfoy’s equally sickly face. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t know.”</p><p>And for the first time since the death of Sirius, Harry cried.</p><p>Harry felt the freezing pits of hell and the warmth of a dragon’s belly all at once as water lapped over every patch of exposed skin it could reach and the heat emitted from Malfoy’s forehead seemed to angrily burn the palm of his hand, as though Malfoy in his unconscious state still knew enough to recognise that it was Harry who had been responsible for Malfoy’s injuries. He pitied himself for not being as proficient at St. Mungo’s. If he were some wizarding protege then he could simply heal Malfoy and pretend as if their encounter had never occurred, but he could not <em>just </em>not pretend that he wasn’t the cause of all this blood that pooled around him. It would be negligent to go about his day and pretend that Malfoy would miraculously survive Harry’s wrath.</p><p>If Harry levitated Malfoy down to the hospital wing then he either risked Malfoy being knocked-about and worsening the boy's injuries in his haste, but if he walked too slowly, then Malfoy might not have enough time left to even be received at the Hospital Wing. So, Harry chose the third option and spirited through the corridors that led to the Hospital Wing, so that onlookers would wonder if invisible hounds nipped at the Chosen One’s heels. Harry could not have even made it to the stairwell when he collided headfirst into another student rounding the corner.</p><p>Pieces of loose parchment were floating lazily through the air when Harry groaned and raised his head to see who had gotten in his way. The girl, who had already sat up to glare daggers at Harry, but he wasn’t looking at her face because he would recognise his friend’s frizzy, unkempt hair any day. And by the wide-eyed surprise that had since replaced her anger, it was clear that she recognised Harry as well.</p><p>“Hermione!” exclaimed Harry. He surged forward to catch her hand and pulled her up with him.</p><p>“Honestly, Ha—”</p><p>“I need you to follow me. It’s urgent,” Harry, cut her off while still holding onto her hand. Silently grateful that the bloodstains didn’t show up on the black fabric.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes, “What could possibly—”</p><p>“No time.” Harry yanked on her hand, pleading that she would magically understand.</p><p>“Wait,” Hermione stomped, “At least let me collect my schoolwork!”</p><p>“Hermione, please, I need your help.”</p><p>At that Hermione relented her struggle with Harry and instead hurried her pace to match Harry’s jog. “What’s going on?” She asked in between laboured puffs of air.</p><p>“I messed up. It’s my fault—”</p><p>“Yes, I understand, but what exactly happened?” Hermione pressed.</p><p>“I’ve cursed Draco. I think he’s seriously hurt. Help him,” He frantically pleaded. Harry didn’t have to turn to know that Hermione was horrified by Harry’s claim. It was enough that she followed him silently towards the boy’s laboratory. Water almost completely engulfed the floor, glimmering lightly from the fire of the torches that lined the otherwise unoccupied corridor. As the pair trekked closer to the door, the water seemed to push against each step and splashes jumped in the air as they lifted their feet to take another.</p><p>Hermione reached the door first, glancing back at Harry before she opened the door and gasped that bordered on a shriek. Harry flinched, but moved forwards, nonetheless, already knowing what he would see upon entry. Still, that didn’t stop the guilt and shame that painfully resurged from his chest, nor did the sight of Hermione leaned over Malfoy frame, who looked as if he had been carved from cold marble and painted carelessly with blood.</p><p>“Harry,” Hermione cried while pressing her two fingers to Malfoy’s neck, “The cuts, they’re so deep, and his heartbeat... His heartbeat if barely there.”</p><p>“So, help him!” Harry bellowed, throwing his hands up for emphasis.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“You can,” Harry told her sternly, “I know you can.”</p><p>With trembling hands, Hermione pulled at her wand and began to mutter several incantations over Malfoy. The gnashes seemed to become more shallow wounds, but it wasn’t enough. Malfoy had suffered a tremendous blood loss, and despite Hermione’s impressive spellwork, Malfoy needed a more capable healer.</p><p>Hermione seemed to realize this too because she nervously began to shew down on her lip and shot Harry a scared look. “There’s something else, but it isn’t meant for humans,” She said carefully.</p><p>“Will it help?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then, what’s stopping you?”</p><p>“It’ll most likely result in permanent scarring,” she whispered while purposefully avoiding Harry’s eyes.</p><p>For a long second, rage utterly consumed Harry’s thoughts. <em>Why should scarring matter? Was Malfoy’s precious skin worth more than his bloody life? </em>But as soon as it had come, his anger passed, and Harry let out a choked command, “Do it.”</p><p>She didn’t nod but turned back to Malfoy’s frame and resumed her spellwork. After what felt to Harry like an eternity trapped within Azkaban, Hermione waved her wand one last time and clearly proclaimed, <em>“Reparo!” </em></p><p>Whatever spell he had suspected Hermione would use, a mending charm was not it. Past her, Malfoy, still unconscious, lay deathly still save for the occasional laboured breath. Just as Hermione had said, his smooth, pale skin was blemished with ugly, white scars that twisted and barbed unevenly similar to how a thick rope would. At that sight, Harry felt his rage seep back into his chest and shoulders, but this time was different. Instead of letting himself lash out at the world for its cruel expectations, his rage was directed inwards, to himself. He had done this. It mattered little that Malfoy had intended to use the Cruciatus Curse, because where Malfoy had failed to cast the spell Harry succeeded, but this success almost had cost a life.</p><p>He tore his gaze away from the scars and focused on Hermione, who still sat leaning over Malfoy and inspecting her work. Harry slowly trudged towards her and rested his hand on her shoulder in a silent ‘thank you,’ She must’ve heard him, there was no way she could not with the way the water shifted and crashed back down after every step, but she still flinched at his touch.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Harry tried to say, but to anyone else, it sounded more like a strangled cry than anything of substance.</p><p>With that, Hermione shifted to face him. She looked absolutely drained, even her lively hair seemed to have deflated, possibly from the sweat that beaded her forehead. Still, she sighed and methodically stood to face Harry, “You’re crying.”</p><p>It was true. Tears streamed relentlessly down Harry’s face, and at that realization, Harry shielded himself with his arm and used the sleeves of his robes to wipe away any tears that persisted, which they did. Without saying anything else, Hermione pulled him into a warm hug and used her free hand to rub Harry’s back when his cries grew louder, and he began to tremble. At what, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the one splayed about on the tiled floor with fresh scars that marred his body. Harry despised Malfoy, but he still could not bring himself to believe that his hatred justified the harm his actions had caused.</p><p>Then, he remembered faintly that Malfoy had spoken of being required to kill. <em>Had he been correct of his assumptions concerning Malfoy? </em>Harry took some comfort in that thought, enough to subdue his lingering guilt. And, so, there he stood, forced to observe Malfoy’s pathetic breathing.</p><p>Finally, Hermione pulled away from Harry. She seemed to have calmed down, her jaw no longer tightly clenched, and when she spoke her voice sounded almost motherly, “He needs to be treated by Madam Pomfrey,” she gestured towards Malfoy, “I’ve stopped the bleeding for now, but she would know better than I.”</p><p>Harry nodded numbly, before retrieving his wand and elevating Malfoy so that he remained in a steady position parallel to the tiled floor. He and Hermione proceeded across the castle with a suspended Malfoy floating beside the pair. Thankfully, their journey to the Hospital Wings proved to be a largely uneventful one. While a few students raised their eyebrows at the odd sight but decided against being involved in whatever strange occasion they were witnessing, and Harry hadn’t noticed any Slytherin lurking about, something which Harry praised Merlin for every second of the way.</p><p>Harry slowed as they came into view of the arch-like doors that led to the hospital wing. Considering, what place within the castle might present the best hiding spot given he be flayed alive when news travelled about how “Harry Potter attacked that Malfoy boy.” He winced, knowing he was as good as dead, before advancing towards what would surely be his personal gallows.</p><p>Madam Pomfrey glanced up from where she and Hermione had been standing and fixed him with an icy stare. She lifted the skirt of her burgundy healer’s uniform and hurried over to Harry and usher him towards a freshly made bed further from the door.</p><p>“Mister Potter, I would say I’m quite thrilled about your visit; however, next time I would like you to consider the circumstances of your visit,” She snipped, before lowering Malfoy into the sterilized hospital bed. Upon properly assessing Malfoy’s condition she swore softly rushed about, rummaging through potions cabinets, during which she spared little effort to conceal her suspicion of the two Gryffindors. “...Of course you both,” she peered at them, “will visit the Headmaster’s Officer, but right now you’re going to sit down and tell me exactly what sort of injuries Mister Malfoy, here, has been subjected to, so I will be able to treat him properly.”</p><p>“Er... he was cursed” Harry muttered.</p><p>“I have eyes, Mr. Potter, what I meant is the specific curse? Or were you not in attendance?” Pomfrey raised a questioning eyebrow, daring him to claim otherwise.</p><p>“Sectumsempra.”</p><p>“Oh, do speak up, boy,” said Pomfrey, raising her voice ever so slightly.</p><p>“Sectumsempra. It was Sectumsempra.” Harry finally admitted, albeit, a bit louder this time.</p><p>If she was shocked or angry with Harry, Madam Pomfrey certainly didn’t let it show on her face, instead choosing to fuss over Malfoy and casting healing incantation more advanced than bother Harry and Hermione had ever seen. Briefly, her hands paused above the sleeping boy and she asked, “What of these scars?”</p><p>Harry remained silent, watching Hermione debate what to say. Like clockwork, her face settled into that of determination and she told Pomfrey, “Malfoy had been wounded so that it would have been dangerous to move him, and Harry didn’t want to risk Draco dying while we sought your aid. So, I tried to treat his wounds with <em>Episkey </em>and when that failed, I used <em>Reparo</em>.”</p><p>“And, thus the scarring,” Pomfrey concluded.</p><p>“Thus the scarring,” Hermione affirmed timidly.</p><p>“Well,” Pomfrey sighed, “I can’t say that your methods are without their faults.” Hermione visibly deflated at her criticism, then Pomfrey continued, “But given the circumstances, I applaud you on your quick-wittedness, and I dare say that Mister Malfoy has you to thank once he is able to regain consciousness. You should be very proud of yourself, Miss Granger.”</p><p>And with that praise, Hermione beamed at Harry to which he returned a softer smile. Madam Pomfrey had once again returned her undivided attention to Malfoy’s treatment. That was most likely their queue to exit the hospital wing, but Harry and Hermione remained firmly planted in their respective locations, both watching Malfoy for any sign of improvement. Harry let out a soft sigh of relief as the blood returned to Malfoy’s face. He knew the sickly boy would survive their encounter, and that was enough to free Harry from the burden of guilt.</p><p>“Mister Malfoy needs bed rest,” Pomfrey shot a pointed look at Harry, “It would be the best for you both to leave for now.”</p><p>The pair nodded their thanks to Madam Pomfrey and shuffled to the exit.</p><p>“Oh, and Mister Potter,” Pomfrey said, almost as an afterthought, “You’ll need to explain Mister Malfoy’s condition to the Headmaster.”</p><p>“Yes. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”</p><p>The elderly healer waved her hand in response. With the silent dismissal, Harry turned to join Hermione.</p><p>⚜</p><p>Harry had wondered how Dumbledore would receive news of Malfoy’s inflicted injuries. He could not imagine Dumbledore would respond with anything other than his consistently calm presentation, though Harry had never directly harmed another student in this way, despite the fact that he could not have known the intention of the curse. At least, that’s what he told himself. Although, any judge would sternly remind the boy, <em>“Ignorantia juris non excusat.” </em>And Harry Potter, similarly to Draco Malfoy, was often guilty of the crime of ignorance.</p><p>Despite this, Harry dutifully presented himself outside Dumbledore’s office, knocked, and the lone gargoyle sentry scowled down over its beak deliberately before shifting to reveal the golden spiral staircase. He sullenly trudged upstairs until he reached the door, which knowingly swung open to reveal a frail Dumbledore who smiled pleasantly at Harry, nonetheless, and Snape adorned entirely in funeral-like robes, standing just behind Dumbledore’s shoulder. Snape lifted his lips into a sneer and his beady black eyes watched through the curtains of his greasy hair as Harry took hesitant steps in the office, pausing when he was only a meter from the grand desk carved from oaks wood.</p><p>“Hello, Harry, I’ve heard you’ve had quite the unfortunate encounter with young Draco Malfoy,” Dumbledore peered up at him through his crescent-moon glasses with an unreadable expression.</p><p>Harry coughed, trying and failing to clear the nervousness in his tone, “Yes, sir. I swear, I didn’t mean for it to happen, sir. I didn’t know...”</p><p>Dumbledore didn’t ask anything else, merely raised a singular eyebrow signalling for Harry to continue with his explanation. Snape, however, began pacing behind the desk and Harry suspected that he wanted nothing more than to strangle Harry for harming his prized pupil.</p><p>“Er,” Harry concluded awkwardly, “I cursed Malfoy with a spell I’ve read about.”</p><p>“Apparently, I’ve underestimated your stupidity, Potter,” Snape hissed coldly, “Were you aware that what you performed was Dark Magic? How taught you that spell?”</p><p>Harry flinched, and Dumbledore raised his blackened hand to silence Snape while keeping his gaze fic on the boy in front of him.</p><p>“No, sir,” said Harry meekly, “I—I read about it somewhere.”</p><p>“And where was that, Harry?” Dumbledore spoke up for the first time since he greeted Harry.</p><p>“A book. It was from the library.” Harry felt reprehensible for lying to Dumbledore of all people, but there wasn’t much he could do or say without exposing his possession of the Half-Blood Prince’s copy of <em>Advanced Potion-Making </em>to Snape, who would undoubtedly snatch it away from him.</p><p>He could deduce by the look on their faces that neither had believed a word he said. Harry could feel his throat drying as he searched for a sign of an indication that they might just sattle him with detention without prying for more details. He stared at Snape with desperate eyes, hoping against hope that had not seen the hesitation in hair—</p><p>“Bring your schoolbag to my office. Now!” Harry felt his heart deflate. Snape continued, “And <em>all </em>of your schoolbooks. Do make sure to not leave any of them behind. I shall discuss your punishment with Dumbledore, and know that you’ll be lucky if I don’t—”</p><p>“Now Severus,” Dumbledore interrupted almost cheerfully. Snape continued to scowl but fell silent at Dumbledore’s request. “Harry, do be along, now. We shall settle this matter when you return; and do try to avoid any detours, “he finished with that omniscient look that Harry had grown accustomed to over all his years at Hogwarts.</p><p>With a pounding heart, Harry nodded and started towards the door. Behind him, Snape whispered loud enough to catch the words 'despicable’ and ‘punished.’</p><p>Once in the corridor, Harry broke into a mad dash towards the Gryffindor tower, hoping he would have enough time to make that forbidden detour. A large group of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students heading down to the Great Hall, excitedly chattering about the upcoming match. The few who glanced over at whoever was thundering past them gaped at Harry's blood-soaked robes and reached out to nudge their friends.</p><p>“Harry, what’s happened?” Seamus Finnigan shouted his question over the million others, the gaggle of students asking a similar variation of Seamus’s. But Harry continued along the corridor, ignoring their questions as if they were non-existent.</p><p>He barged clumsily into the boy’s dormitory where Ron laid casually strung across his bed, flipping through the latest edition of <em>Witch Weekly </em>and stuffing his mouth with fistfuls of biscuits.</p><p>However, he peered over the magazine upon Harry’s less than subtle entrance, looking completely bewildered.</p><p>“Where’ve you—? Why are you soaking—? Is that <em>blood</em>?” Ron threw down what he had been reading and jumped up, rushing over to check if Harry was injured. “Mate, if you’ve been a girl this whole time, you could’ve told me.”</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes at Ron’s absurdity, then panted out, “I need your book. Your Potions book. Quick... give it to me.”</p><p>“But what about the Half-Blood—”</p><p>“I’ll explain later!”</p><p>Ron sighed and reached over for the bag that sat at the foot of his bed. For what felt like an eternity in hell, Harry watched as Ron shuffled the insides of the bag until he finally pulled out his copy of <em>Advanced Potion-Making</em>. “You owe me that, at least,” joked Ron and he handed the book over.</p><p>Harry nodded, snatched his own schoolbag from atop his wooden trunk, and dashed back down the stairs with his bag and both copies of <em>Advanced Potion-Making </em>in tow. Several students raised their heads to watch Harry barge into the common room and threw himself out the portrait hole, all in the time that they formed obnoxious questions that sat at the tips of their tongues. However, Harry was already hurtling down the seven-floor corridor before any of them had managed to voice their questions.</p><p>Harry managed to pass another group of students, disappearing around the corner that led to the Room of Requirement. He skidded to a halt besides the blank wall that stood opposite the ugly tapestry of trolls dancing a ballet, and tightly shut his eyes, pacing along the wall.</p><p>
  <em>I need a place to hide my book... I need a place to hide my book... I need a place to hide my book... </em>
</p><p>For what was the first time since he has been hunting Malfoy, he wasn’t staring at the mundanely blank wall. When he dared to open his eyes, there, at last, was the door, which had evaded Harry for the past semester. Both confused and pleased, Harry wrenched open the door that led to the Room of Requirement and disappeared behind it before anyone could curiously peer down the corridor and discover the boy red-handed.</p><p>Despite his haste, his uncertainty, and panic of what horrific plans Snape had conducted in his absence; Harry steps faltered and gaped at what the door had revealed. The grand room he was standing in seemed to reach for miles and the pillar stretched proudly, hoisting the cursed ceiling that he suspected was taller than the Astronomy Tower as viewed from the courtyard below. The high windows to his right let lazy trails of light bathe the room and its contents in a warm shower of sunlight that made a spark of happiness flare in his chest. Harry felt like a small presence in the cathedral-like room that did not acknowledge his presence. On closer</p><p>inspection, he could make out individual items from what appeared to be a miniature city landscape with countless skyscrapers that reached towards the ceiling. Harry moved through one of the many alleyways and trails of the odd labyrinth. Among the piles, he could make out old and damaged furniture, which teetered above him and Harry had no doubts that the towers would collapse on him if he strayed from the designated trails. Some of the hidden objects were relatively recent additions to the room’s collection, but given the egregious towers, he assumed there was little hope of their owner reclaiming what was quite possibly the junkyard of the many generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. Harry was surrounded by abandoned magical items that were either damaged, now useless, or possibly banned for one reason or another. There were thousands upon thousands of books that lined the alleyway, which were likely stored here for the latter reasoning. There were opulent cloaks that he was sure Malfoy would enjoy, heavy jewellry that shimmered was rare crystals and diamonds, among these, Harry eyed an entirely diamond necklace with the emerald heart-shaped pendant and fantasized of the money it could pawn. For a second, he considered snatching the necklace, but ultimately decided it was best to leave magical items where they had tossed, lest they had been infused with an especially nasty curse. Above that floated winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees that had enough magic for these particular items to wearily continue their patrol over the forbidden items. There were chipped wine bottles that shuddered every so often; there were ugly wizarding hats that stubbornly served each generation’s fashion revolution; there were several bejewelled swords that had dulled during the time hidden away. Harry passed by a small pile of what he suspected had been the shells of dragon eggs and hoped that none were currently stalking him for their next meal.</p><p>Harry followed one of the many alleyways to his left that was marked by the bloodstained battle ax propped against an enormous stuffed troll in a pink tutu, quickening his pace so that he could find a place to conceal his own treasure without having to search the entire room to pinpoint the untrustworthy copy of <em>Advanced Potion-Making</em>. He turned right at a medieval cage with a six-legged skeleton that twisted its malformed head when Harry passed by, took a left at the Vanishing Cabinet he swore Montague had lost the previous year, finally pausing at a nearby cupboard with acid stains that caused the wood to blister where it had come in contact with the solution. The cupboard door creaked open and Harry gently rested his book on the shelf eye-level to him, alongside a small birdcage with a handful of feathers left at the bottom, and slammed the door shut.</p><p>Cautiously, Harry seized a nearby bust of an ugly warlock, whose nose was probably scattered across the floor, from a nearby crate, perched a dusty silver wig and a tarnished sapphire crown... Or was it a tiara? Atop the bust to create a distinctive marker, then sprinted back along the alleyways, nearly tripping several times over some discarded pieces of furniture or rare books that would send Hermione into a frenzy if she were to discover their post-kicked condition. When he arrived in the deserted corridor, he slammed the heavy door and checked over his shoulder to once again see a blank wall.</p><p>Meandering back towards Dumbledore’s office, which was thankfully located on the same floor. Harry attempted to tidy his appearance and took deep breaths to calm his still racing heart</p><p>before he had to brave Snape’s wrath. A minute later, he closed the office door behind him as Snape held out his hand expectantly Harry crossed the floor, taking Snape’s hand in his own firmly as a muggle would. Snape gawked back at him with an expression that bordered on bewilderment and outrage, and Harry quietly wished his face would remain stuck like that.</p><p>“Your schoolbag, Potter,” Snape finally snarled.</p><p>“Sorry, sir, you hadn’t clarified,” he snidely replied.</p><p>Harry replaced his hand with his schoolbag and watched as his professor’s arm buckled slightly under its weight before he flipped the cover open and inspected the inhabitants inside. One after the other, Snape extracted Harry’s booked, examined their contents, and tossed them aside once he had ruled out its suspicion. Then, Snape pulled the last book, triumphantly looked at Harry, and returned to carefully examine Ron’s Potions book.</p><p>“This is the Potion’s book you use in Professor Slughorn’s class, is it, Potter?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“This is the copy of <em>Advanced Potion-Making </em>that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?”</p><p>“I purchased it during my shopping in Diagon Alley, yes,” said Harry firmly.</p><p>Snape raised an eyebrow at that. “And why is the name ‘Roonil Wazlib’ written inside the front cover?”</p><p>Harry’s heart constricted in his chest. “It came from a thrift shop, sir,” Harry invented wildly, then his face settled so that it remained expressionless.</p><p>“I wasn’t aware you required charity, Potter?”</p><p>“Muggles seem to enjoy browsing those shops,” said Dumbledore from behind his desk, plopping a single lemon drop in his mouth and smiling warmly at Snape, “I would highly recommend you visit one during the summer holiday, Severus, they are surprisingly delightful. I believe two years ago—time certainly has a way of sneaking up on you—I discovered a Prussian blue hat I’ve been wearing ever since.”</p><p>Snape cleared his throat, attempting to redirect the conversation to their original topic, but Dumbledore seemed determined to deny Snape the opportunity. “Now, Harry,” said Dumbledore, anchoring Harry with the sensation that he was under an X-ray, “What precisely transpired in your encounter with Mister Malfoy?”</p><p>“Er,” Harry stalled, at a loss for what Dumbledore wanted him to disclose. He squirmed uncomfortably and imagined Dumbledore dismissing Harry’s Draco Malfoy theory as Hermione and Ron had done whenever he broached the topic. “Well, I found Malfoy in the bathroom, and he, erm, was alone,” Harry winced at how his phrasing could be interpreted and continued lamely, “And when he saw me, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me, sir.”</p><p>Silence fell between them, and Harry clamoured to alleviate his discomfort at Dumbledore’s cold assessment of Harry’s half-story, “It isn’t that I meant to have a duel with Malfoy. He just whipped around and tried to curse me, and...”</p><p>“Which, naturally, startled you into defending yourself,” inserted Dumbledore, “However, I would hope you would retain the awareness that the use of such destructive magic is impermissible. Indeed, I had hoped to impress upon you the corrupt nature of the Dark Arts.”</p><p>His tone was absent of malice. Despite his own agitation, still, Harry would describe Dumbledore’s demeanor as calm and part of him wished the expression of the ancient wizard matched his harsh words. Harry dug his thumb into the skin between the bones of his opposite wrist in a weak effort to prevent the spread of the painfully suffocating guilt that spread from his ribs that tighten and forced Harry to take tiny, tiny breaths. He hadn’t been punched, but the way his guts twisted around his stomach strained Harry’s already short breaths.</p><p><em>Had he used Dark Magic? Is that why Malfoy nearly died? No, he hadn’t died. He could not have possibly known. Harry wasn’t the one responsible for Malfoy’s injuries. He wasn’t even the one who initiated the fight! It wasn’t his fault. Malfoy would have tortured Harry with the Cruciatus Curse. </em>But his reassurance did nothing to satisfy the thoughts that flashed through Harry’s head like a trance.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to harm Malfoy,” Harry finally choked out.</p><p>“I know that,” said Dumbledore softly, “I trust you have learnt something from this experience.”</p><p>Harry nodded silently and a strange look passed between Dumbledore and Snape that he could not quite understand. As if unaware of the room’s tense atmosphere the portrait of Armando Dippet scorned that of Phineas Nigellus Black, who returned the insult with a rude gesture. It almost made Harry snicker, and he suddenly felt free of the oppressive weight that Dumbledore inspired.</p><p>Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, “Seeing as we are nearing the end of this year’s term, I believe it would be appropriate for you to fill in Mister Malfoy’s Prefect responsibilities while he is in recovery.”</p><p>Snape looked offended by this and opened his mouth to voice this, but Dumbledore continued, oblivious of Snape’s displeasure. “Specifically, you shall accompany Miss Parkinson on her nightly patrols. Additionally, you are to attend Saturday detentions, which will be overseen by Professor Snape.”</p><p>At the last amendment, Snape perked up and a condescending smile, which resembled that of a hyena, stretched across his sallow face. A dreadful feeling settled deep in his stomach and Harry hypothesized what bothersome task Snape would conduct. Given the man’s affinity for creativity in the detentions he oversaw, something he lacked in his teaching, Harry wasn’t particularly eager to suffer Snape’s unpleasantness.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” said Harry.</p><p>Despite the current circumstances Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and said, “That will be all, Harry.”</p><p>Harry nodded and retreated to the exit, but not before Snape called haughtily after him, “Potter, eight A.M, sharp. My office.”</p><p>⚜</p><p>Harry heard the spiral staircase shift from behind as he started towards the common room, hoping to switch out of his dirtied robes and still have enough time to snatch something from the Great Hall. However, when he came upon where the castle diverged Harry paused, peering down the corridor to see a grand stairwell waiting patiently for him. He knew where it led. He could not muster any desire to return to the blood-splattered laboratory. Nonetheless, that didn’t prevent his traitorous feet from leading back to the still horrendous scene like a cruel siren’s call beckoning Harry to his downfall.</p><p>Outside reddish water flooded his path, and he quietly mourned his already ruined socks. Once inside, Harry made sure to close and barricade the door behind him with what remained of the now marred wastebasket, lest someone discover him among the aftermath and subject Harry to another round of irritating questions. Along the floor swam those same bloodstained spider lilies that he had seen blossomed from Malfoy’s injuries. Harry trudged forwards, which caused the flowers to dissipate into a wispy smoke that moved quickly from him. If he were to gaze down at the tiled floor, past the ominous bloodied clouds, Harry would see the tiles take an odd shape that abided by none of the art’s principles that moved with him, but he cared little for smaller details. Harry watched as his reflection grew larger until he was face-to-face with the dishevelled black-haired boy who held his gaze through the cracked mirror. For a second, he configured the image of Malfoy, standing behind him. Harry whipped around, startled, but no one else had been in the laboratory. It had been a trick of his peripheral, and a rather sadistic one, at that.</p><p>Heaving a deep sigh, Harry returned his attention to the mirror and clutched the grimy basin. <em>What had Malfoy been doing? </em>Harry vaguely recalled the conversation between Malfoy and Moaning Myrtle. He had been too busy being shocked by the other boy’s tearstained face. The word ‘kill’ floated through his mind, but without the context, it held little value. Dropping his head so that Harry instead saw the water beneath his shoes ripple, clearly displeased by his movements. His eyes followed the ripples as they spread out away from him until they glossed over a familiar black and mud-brown Hawthorne wand.</p><p>Harry curiously retrieved Malfoy’s wand, which unusually wasn’t pointed at him, and took the opportunity to inspect it closely. What struck Harry as odd was how unremarkable the wand looked. Malfoy, despite his preference for plain black robes, held himself proudly, the way a person who enjoyed material opulence would. Afterall, Malfoy had a fondness for the grand, but he supposed that didn’t really matter. If he really wanted to, Harry supposed, Malfoy could infuse his wand into some silly looking cane-like his father had done. Smiling partially at the image of Malfoy prancing about with a snake handle cane, Harry slipped the wand into his robes and made his way across the laboratory. He hesitated at the door, glancing back at the bloodied floor one last time, then opened the door and disappeared behind it.</p><p>Hermione was waiting for him in the common room when Harry walked through the portrait hole. She looked weary in a way he had never seen her before as if she had spent a year trapped in the same room. “Oh Harry,” said Hermione, wrapping her arms around her sides in a self-soothing motion, “I won’t say ‘I told you so.”</p><p>“Leave it, Hermione,” warned Ron.</p><p>Surveying the common room, it was painstakingly easy to deduce that Hermione had confided in Ron and Ginny concerning his eventful encounter with Draco Malloy. The Weasley siblings shared an uncomfortable look, Ginny wore a worried expression, Ron less so but had his lips pursed, nonetheless. They all seemed to carefully study Harry as if he were a potentially dangerous potion that had been brewed by Seamus Finnigan. Their stares made him uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into some faraway cave inhabited by a dragon who would be delighted to tear him limb from limb. Maybe Harry was being a bit dramatic, but he won’t have thought his friends won’t have reacted so strongly, especially considering it was Malloy whom he had cursed. Although, he was fairly certain Ron had been secretly pleased by this news.</p><p>“I tried to stop you using that bloody book! I told you something felt off about it! And I was right, wasn’t I?” exclaimed Hermione rather shrilly.</p><p>“I was under the assumption you weren’t going to say, ‘I told you so.’ Fat lie that was,” Harry snapped back.</p><p>“Just tell me you won’t use that back again,” she demanded.</p><p>“I don’t know. I might,” Harry said defensively, “Listen, with the Prince’s notes I’d never won the Felix Felicis. I’d never known how to save Ron from being <em>poisoned</em>. It’s done so much good. You can’t possibly—”</p><p>“I can’t possibly what? Hermione said nastily, “I can’t possibly know how you’ve used it to gain an undeserved reputation for brilliance. Or is it I can’t possibly know that you would’ve nearly killed someone! Because I clearly did, I told you that book was suspicious!”</p><p>Harry was stung, frustrated, and contrite all at once, and Hermione’s lecture hadn’t done anything to rid him of these feelings. She was right, of course. However, he had already been punished for his actions, so he didn’t think it was fair for her to preach down to Harry about his moral obligations. A certain part of Harry wouldn’t mind leaving the book hidden away in the Room of Requirement to collect dust. Hitherto, the Half-Blood Prince’s copy of <em>Advanced Potion Making </em>had been his saving grace like cheats in a game, but now it felt as if an old friend had</p><p>betrayed him. Regardless of his raging emotions, Harry defended himself against Hermione’s accusations, “I didn’t mean to! I wish I hadn’t hurt Malfoy, and not just because I’ve got detention until the end of term! You know I wouldn’t use a spell like that. Look, I’m sorry. I feel awful! But I was scared, and Malfoy was going to use the Cruciatus Curse. I panicked, alright? I was scared.</p><p>Hermione had opened her mouth to retort, but the last part of his rant clearly caught her off guard and a shocked expression began to creep across her face.</p><p>Suddenly, Ginny was in between the two, turning to Hermione angrily, “Sod off, Hermione! Would you rather Harry be the one lying in the hospital wing? I’m not surprised Malfoy had something horrible up his sleeve, you should be glad Harry was able to defend himself!”</p><p>Harry felt something flutter in his chest.</p><p>“I—” Hermione began.</p><p>“And you,” said Ginny, turning to him with a fiery scowl, “What is this about detentions?”</p><p>“Er,” stuttered Harry. Any happiness he felt from Ginny coming to his defence had quickly diminished. A cold realization that he would not be able to play on Saturday rushed through him as if he were swimming nude across the Antarctic. He avoided her eyes, not wanting to see her disappointment at the news of his absence. “Dumbledore requires that I replace Malfoy in his Prefect duties. Also, I’ve detention with Snape every Saturday from now,” Harry lamely tacked on.</p><p>“Does that mean...” started Ginny, still trying to catch his eyes, but Harry turned away, refusing to look at her.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Silence descended upon the group and Harry awkwardly slinked away to the boys’ dormitory, fully aware that his friends were still watching his every movement. Upon seeing his poster bed, Harry stride across the room in three long steps and collapsed onto his covers, bothering to change into his pyjamas.</p><p>However, if Harry had sought an escape from reality, his dreamscape offered no such opportunity. When he closed his eyes, he felt the wind brush lightly over his shoulders, trailing over his skin until it crept up to sing kindly in his ear. The song cultivated into a divine sound of harmonious voices singing out from beneath him overshadowed only by the sweeping orchestra of wind that had been gradually moved about quicker and with erratic movements that unsettled Harry. As the wind, now heavier with the humidity of a summer storm, began to push against him and fling his body about like it was nothing more than a piece of debris, Harry could hear the voices dissolve into bitter whispers beckoning to him. The voices were enigmatic, and Harry could not help but feel as if he knew the fluttering voices and if he could only move closer, he would be able to understand what they were trying to tell him. Then the voices became angry and the wind pushed firmly against his back, filling him with a primal fear. Harry was falling.</p><p>Falling.</p><p>            Falling.</p><p>                        Falling.</p><p>                                    Falling.</p><p>                                                Falling.</p><p>Then, the feeling of his bed pressed against his back and the wind that had forced him downwards had dissipated. Harry was in his bed. In his room. Alone. It was the room in which he had fallen asleep in. It was the boy’s dormitory. He had seen this room at least a thousand times. He recognised the familiar circular room accented with the Gryffindor house colours of gold and crimson. Peering past the curtains that hung limply from his four-poster bed, he could make out the familiar rug, which bore the house sigil, lying broadly in the centre. It was so familiar, but nothing felt right. If Harry stared at something for too long, he could convince himself that it would start to move ever so slightly. Not abruptly. No, that would be too obvious. Whatever it was that Harry decided to turn his gaze upon, it would flicker, then dance about similar to the way a flame would.</p><p>The door groaned loudly, and Harry tore his attention away from the window he had been closely examining, to see a fringe of white-blond hair disappear behind the mahogany door. At first, Harry was only confused, but anger replaced that feeling almost immediately.</p><p>
  <em>What was Draco Malfoy doing in Gryffindor Tower? </em>
</p><p>Harry scrambled from his bed, accidentally tearing the sheets from the mattress in his haste and dashed across the room. Throwing the door open, Harry saw Malfoy loitering, almost patiently, on the tower’s stairs. He threw himself at Malfoy, but the boy dodged his attack and turned to meander down the steps with Harry trailing behind. Despite Harry's desperate sprint down the tower, Malfoy remained out of reach even at his fairly slow pace. Had he not been so absorbed with that fact that Malfoy had invaded his dorm room, Harry would have figured this odd. It seemed as if the tower stretched on forever with Harry rounding a curve only to watch as white-blond hair wisped just out of sight.</p><p>Finally, he reached the common room where Malfoy was waiting for him, devoid of any sign of physical excursion. The boy stood almost blankly, and Harry paused. He looked closely, but unlike the furniture in his room, Malfoy didn’t flicker against his backdrop. Instead, the boy seemed as if he’d been replaced with an ice sculpture, he was white, white not like snow, but as if Harry was looking at a painting where someone had taken a brush and blotted out the figure with pure white paint. Then, with sloth and mechanical motions, Malfoy drew his wand, and Harry realized why he had been in his dorm room. Harry launched forward and tackled Malfoy before he had the opportunity to curse Harry. His hands roughly clamped down on the thin neck with a python-like grip. Malfoy’s expression remained that of a statue, blank; however, he squirmed under Harry, using his hands to push at his shoulders.</p><p>Harry stared at the boy pinned underneath him. He didn’t seem real, didn’t feel real, didn’t act real. Then, Malfoy flickered, and it was Ron whom he was strangling. Harry blinked, confused.</p><p>“C’mon, get up, mate, we need to get going,” said Ron, tiredly leaning over Harry.</p><p>“What?” he asked, still confused.</p><p>“Did you forget? You have detention and I’m a Prefect. Stupid punishment if you ask me,” snorted Ron, “Why is Dumbledore’s idea of detention is a bloody responsibility for us mature lot.”</p><p>Harry focused on his surroundings, trying to remember what had felt so real not even a minute. It was a nightmare that he was certain of. Glimpses of blond hair and hands around a neck flashed through his mind, but when he attempted to recall anything else the dream retreated further into his subconscious. Finally, Harry abandoned this altogether and returned his attention back to Ron who was still rambling about Prefect duties.</p><p>“Anyways, let’s get going, you’re partnered with Parkinson and she’s rather nasty about, well, everything... So try to survive, yeah? Oh, and Hermione gets annoyed whenever she thinks Parkinson abuses her Prefect status, so could ya try to get her to not do that,”</p><p>Harry nodded and stood to follow Ron.</p><p>“You might wanna change, mate.”</p><p>“Why?” Harry inspected his robes and traced his fingers over what could only be dried blood and large patches of sweat trailing down his torso. “Yeah, I’ll change.”</p><p>⚜</p><p>Pansy Parkinson had a rather unpleasant face, it wasn’t as if any of her features were particularly ugly, no, that wasn’t why, more so that she always wore a condescending expression. She had a small, upturned nose that was like a button sewn on a doll and seemed to possess a permanent sneer, making her appear more pug-like, which wasn’t helped by that fact her full lips were sure to follow suit. While her wide, deep-set eyes which currently seethe into him with undisguised hatred, matched the charcoal colour of her hair, and Harry imagined that she was stabbing him repeatedly in her head.</p><p>“Here to finish off another member of Slytherin, Potter? Don’t think I won’t make what you’ve done to Draco look like a papercut when I’m through with you,” she sneered.</p><p>“You come up with that one yourself,” Harry said sourly, “Clearly Voldemort’s been the warmup this entire time and my true enemy has been you Slytherin prats.”</p><p>At the mention of Voldemort’s name, Pansy flinched slightly, and Hermione dug her elbow into his side. Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione’s interference, wanting nothing more than that night to be over before anyone else thought it appropriate to mention his duel with Malfoy.</p><p>“Let’s get this over with,” Harry finally said, nodding his head towards the torch-lit corridor; to which Pansy gave him a look that gave him the impression that he were a spider that had climbed into her bedsheets, but, to Harry’s great relief, remained silent.</p><p>“Alright then,” said Ron, eyeing the three like he had expected for a duel to commence at any second, “Try to save your fists fights until we’ve a big enough audience to wager… Though, s’pose with my lucky streak, I’d probably lose a few galleons by myself,” he rambled on, thoughtfully, “So, best separate ‘fore that happens.”</p><p>“We’ll patrol the top floors and you take the bottom floors,” said Hermione, ignoring Pansy altogether, “I believe the other Prefects have taken to the second through fifth floors.”</p><p>With Hermione’s semi-dismissal, Pansy turned on her heel and began towards the staircase without checking if Harry was following. The trio stood awkwardly, watching Pansy disappear down the corridor. Hermione and Ron fixed him with worried looks, which Harry ignored, choosing to instead trail after Pansy.</p><p>“Stay safe, Harry,” warned Hermione after a brief silence, “Pansy’s thick enough to wander off a cliff and wouldn’t hesitate to drag you down with her either.”</p><p>On the sixth floor, Pansy was leaning against the wall when Harry caught up to her, although she clearly was not pleased by their circumstances. When he stopped a foot or so from her figure, she pushed gracefully off the stone wall and joined him. A tense air fell upon the two and the only sound which could be heard was the echo of their footsteps, echoing down the long corridor. Along the walls, they passed sleeping paintings, who mostly remained asleep, while others cracked their eyes open to gaze suspiciously at the two students. Occasionally, they would pass an imposing suit of armour standing guard, but nothing out of the ordinary in such an unordinary school. Pansy was more subdued than she usually was, which Harry suspected was because she didn’t have an audience to watch as she lashed out, nor was she surrounded by the typical Slytherin cronies. Harry decided he liked her much more this way. She was certainly less irritating.</p><p>“We’re visiting the Hospital Wing,” said Pansy, leaving no room for argument.</p><p>“Why?” Harry asked anyways.</p><p>“Because my <em>friend</em> is still recovering there! Why else would I?” she exclaimed.</p><p>“I don’t know, maybe to torment some first years. I don’t see how anyone would <em>want</em> to visit Malfoy.”</p><p>Pansy rounded harshly on him, shoving Harry so that he stumbled backward, twisting his legs together in his haste to steady himself before he could trip on his arse. He looked up quickly, expecting Pansy to have drawn her wand, but no such thing happened. Harry immediately regretted his blunt phrasing and Pansy trembling angrily in front of him didn’t resolve this feeling. Pansy Parkinson was a proud and cruel girl, but now she was terrifying. Although she could not have been much taller than Hermione, now she was gigantic not only in her stature but in the way her shoulders were drawn forward rather aggressively and her mouth pulled in a snarl and in the way her presence consumed the corridor so that Harry was frozen to where he cowered before her.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” whispered Harry.</p><p>“You’re sorry? Sorry for what?” shrieked Pansy, “Sorry for what you said? Or sorry for almost <em>killing</em> Draco?”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“No! You don’t deserve to get away with that! You go prancing around this school, Potter the hero, Potter the Chosen One, nothing <em>you</em> could do could possibly be wrong, no matter who you hurt!” said Pansy angrily, “I hate you! You should’ve been expelled! Had it been anyone else they bloody would have, but <em>no</em>, Dumbledore would never let his golden boy actually be held accountable for his actions! Even your detentions are a bloody privilege!”</p><p>“Oh, like you’re one to talk! You’re nothing but a pathetic school bully,” Harry yelled back, which caused a good number of portraits to mutter indignantly about their disturbed rest.</p><p>Pansy’s voice grew icy, “The difference between you and I is that I’ve never physically harmed anyone,” and with that, she stormed off in the direction of the hospital wing.</p><p>Harry stared agape as her robes faded and bled into the dark corridor until she evaded his line of sight. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to be sad, and every emotion in between; however, Harry was just numb. Something was missing, it had to be. At last, he was alone. Alone in his own company, and within the past year it had grown to become the worst sort of company Harry could imagine. If he could choose, Harry would rather be paired off to duel with any number of Death Eaters. At the very least he could manage that task mindlessly. A pit tunnelled deep into Harry’s chest, although if he were to look down, he would see no such mark. The tunnel was cold and dark and numb and empty and devoid of everything that made him feel. It wasn’t as if all his happy memories had been stolen by the kiss of a Dementor. No, they were still very much intact, only dulled and worthless.</p><p>Then, an image of white-blond locks of hair and pale skin painted with blood flashed through Harry’s mind, All at once, shame and guilt and frustration and loneliness crashed into him, and Harry felt as if he could breathe after spending a lifetime underwater. It was a horrible feeling, but anything, even if they were negative, was better than that painful emptiness.</p><p>So, Harry wandered the corridors alone, descending through the remaining floors until he stood outside the Hospital Wing. The muted voices of Malfoy and Pansy drifted into the corridor, lingering for a moment in Harry’s ear, but his mind was still too scrambled for him to retain their meanings as if he were stuck rereading the same line in a book. Tiredly, he slumped down until he was seated against the wall outside the entrance. Across from him stood a massive arched door held up by attentively carved roman columns. During the nighttime, the door remained firmly shut and only opened when students began to pour into the Great Halls the following morning. Harry’s eyes traced the pattern in the door’s wood. The doors themselves were made from a handsome rosewood that contrasted the cream and bronze colours of the quartzite stonework.</p><p>Within the Hospital Wing, he could hear an argument break out between the two Slytherins, and while their voices grew heated, their volume remained low, most likely to not attract the attention of anyone lurking in the corridors. Harry quietly stood up and inched towards the door to better hear their conversation, curious about what topic could possibly cause infighting among the singular-minded friends. He peeked around the corner, seeing the unoccupied white beds he silently reminded him Madam Pomfrey placed Malfoy further into the room.</p><p>“No, I don’t understand, Draco!”</p><p>“You don’t need to understand,” Malfoy’s voice hissed angrily.</p><p>“Is this about your job for <em>him</em>?” Harry frowned.</p><p>“It’s none of your business who I associate with,” said Malfoy with a nasty sneer.</p><p>“Yes, but Potter? What could you possibly want with him? He’s the reason you’re here!” At this Harry had grown ever more confused and wondered to himself if Malfoy had some sort of plan to kidnap him.</p><p>“Really? You don’t say, I’ve been wondering how I’ve managed to get these injuries,” said Malfoy sarcastically.</p><p>“Draco, I’m just worried about you! You bloody git! You’ve looked like shit this entire term—”</p><p>“Thanks, and here I thought you found me attractive.”</p><p>For a moment, the room had gone silent, then Harry heard footsteps hurriedly approaching where he stood still spying on the two Slytherins. Panicked and without many options, he returned to his original seat against the stone and pretended as if he had dozed off, thankfully before Pansy burst through the entryway. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Harry’s poor attempt to look as if he hadn’t been listening. Harry cracked an eye open and found Pansy glaring at him through silent tears that slipped out of the corners of her eyes.</p><p>“What do you think—? Nevermind! The ponce wants you for whatever bloody reason!” she practically yelled at him and resumed her furious march past him.</p><p>Once again, Harry peered into the room, this time allowing himself to be seen by its inhabitants. Malfoy sat upright clearly shocked by the revelation of Harry's presence and Harry took an awkward step towards the other boy. As he drew closer, Harry could barely read fear flash through his eyes before Malfoy settled his expression into that of arrogant indifference.</p><p>“What do you want, Potter?” said Malfoy suspiciously, “Already returning to your vulgar stalking habits?”</p><p>“It seems I should be asking you that question,” he responded.</p><p>“That’s where you’re wrong, Potter. You see, I, unlike you, am the one currently sitting in the Hospital Wing, because I, unlike you, am heavily mutilated, so I, unlike you, am the one who deserves the sympathy under these circumstances,” Malfoy said with a pleased look on his face.</p><p>“Yes, but you've seemed to have forgotten that you, unlike me, are the one who started a duel in the first place and you, unlike me, attempted an Unforgivable Curse,” mocked Harry to which Malfoy grimaced.</p><p>“And had you not been stalking me for the entire year then maybe I wouldn’t have felt the need to use an Unforgivable Curse,” Malfoy defended.</p><p>Harry was stunned by Malfoy’s excuse and by the look on his face, Malfoy had immediately regretted what he said. “You’re mental,” he snarled. Harry had expected Malfoy to snap a defensive retort, but the boy remained silent and stared furiously at his hospital sheets, so he continued, “I didn’t know the impact of that spell, and I’m sorry! But you did! You know what an Unforgivable does and you <em>still </em>used it!”</p><p>“I panicked—”</p><p>“So, did I, but I wouldn’t knowingly use Dark Magic!” Harry bellowed and Malfoys eyes were opened wide, “If you had succeeded in casting an Unforgivable Curse, you’d be in Azkaban right now. Are you honestly so desperate to reunite with your father?”</p><p>“Don’t you dare speak of my father, you bloody prat!” yelled Malfoy, “You’re the reason he’s there.”</p><p>“No, it's his own fault he’s stuck in Azkaban because he’s a Death Eater! And you’re gonna become—”</p><p>“You’re wrong,” Malfoy sneered at him, uncomfortably shifting under the bedsheets.</p><p>“Then show me your arm.”</p><p>“What?” said Malfoy, but the fear in his tone betrayed him.”</p><p>“I don’t think the question was all that difficult to understand. Your left arm. Show it to me.”</p><p>“You think I’m a Death Eater?” Malfoy shifted further away from Harry and attempted to laugh, but the sound that escaped his mouth sounded more like an angry sob, “You’ve gone mental!”</p><p>In a moment, Harry advanced on Malfoy who shrunk back, desperately scrambling for his sheets to create a barrier, a flimsy one at that. He lunged forward, seized the blanket, and ripped it from Malfoy’s grip. Hovering over the pale boy who had always been slim and pointy, but now Harry finally noticed just how malnourished Malfoy had become. Pulling his knees to his chest in one final barrier, Malfoy watched him like one would watch a tiger they encountered during a hike. If Harry had been suspicious of Malfoy before, his reactions to Harry’s prodding was all the confirmation he needed, but he wanted undeniable evidence. Evidence that his friends could not simply brush off; evidence that Harry’s obsession over him was justified and that he was correct to assume Malfoy’s wickedness. Accordingly, Harry grappled with Malfoy as he kicked and swung his arms about widely, landing each one; however, Malfoy’s strength had been nearly depleted by his wounds and following recovery. Simply, Malfoy lacked the ability to overcome his assailant and the brief struggle was lost. Harry had him pinned to the bed, straddling Malfoy so that he could not escape as Harry yanked the button-up shirt upwards to reveal the skin of his forearm.</p><p>There, branded upon paper-white skin, was a skill, composed of a faint red ink, with a snake protruding from its unhinged mouth. Harry knew had it been active the tattoo would turn a jet black, but inactive it was more similar to a fresh scar. Draco Malfoy possessed the Dark Mark; that's what he had suspected, and for the second time that day Harry realized that he found no joy when it came to Malfoy’s obvious torment. He had been right, and this proved it. Still, Harry was disappointed and confused at his disappointment.</p><p>“Leave,” Malfoy’s voice trembled, and it was enough to release Harry from the trance cast by the sight of the Dark Mark.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>“Leave!” Malfoy repeated with an ire that left no room for argument; and, so, Harry left with Malfoy’s eyes fixed on his back.</p><p>⚜</p><p>This time when Harry entered the common room only Hermione had waited up for him and he really wished she hadn’t.</p><p>“You’ve not eaten yet?” she asked though it sounded more like a statement, “Shall we visit the kitchen?”</p><p>Harry nodded, knowing Hermione wasn’t giving him the option to say no. As they trekked down the seven floors to the kitchen Hermione walked silently beside him, repeatedly glancing nervously at him then back to the floor. Even while Harry had never eaten that day, he did not seem to possess any sort of appetite after all that occurred, and his conversation with Malfoy following his wretched patrol accompanying Pansy had done nothing to alter this. Then again, their journey to the kitchen wasn’t exactly about getting something to eat if he were to go by Hermione’s jitteriness that reminded him somewhat of an alarm clock in the cartoons Dudley seemed to enjoy.</p><p>“Go on, say whatever it is you’re thinking about so loudly,” he said awkwardly if only to relieve the tension that had built up in between their silence.</p><p>Hermione paused for a moment, then hesitantly said, “How am I supposed to know if you’ll even listen to me?”</p><p>“Isn’t that what this was for?” Harry gestured outwardly, “To trap me into a conversation.”</p><p>“I did not <em>trap</em> you,” Harry shot her a sceptical look and Hermione amended, “Alright, well maybe I did, but Harry, I’m just really worried about, well, everything that’s happened... especially with you.”</p><p>“With me?” he scoffed.</p><p>Hermione sighed and carefully explained, “Look, Ron told me I had been too harsh on you, and I may have chosen my wording poorly; however, I don’t believe I was wrong.”</p><p>The pair had reached the fourth floor by that point and it was a semi-miracle they hadn’t encountered any other students or teachers patrolling, particularly since they weren’t exactly quiet during their conversation. Some portion of him wanted to snap ‘It’s none of your business’ and be done with this conversation, at the same time, he knew that wasn’t the case. If anyone had the right to speak about their shared experience it was obviously Hermione. Nonetheless, he was uncertain what he was supposed to say, and his confused feelings only cemented that uncertainty.</p><p>As he rounded another corner, staring into the castle’s labyrinth, when Harry broke the silence, “I just don’t know what you want me to say…”</p><p>“Well, why don’t you start with how you’re feeling,” she suggested.</p><p>“That’s the thing,” said Harry, frustrated by his own lack of awareness, “I don’t know. In the bathroom, I wanted to be thrilled, because it was Malfoy, and he’s the one who initiated the duel, but if anything, it's exactly the opposite,” Harry rambled, not being able to contain his thoughts, “And when I visited him in the Hospital Wing—”</p><p>“<em>You</em> visited Malfoy?” Hermione asked in disbelief.</p><p>“I’ve been under the impression that shrinks were a tad more subtle in their questioning.”</p><p>“Git,” said Hermione and he beamed at her.</p><p>“Anyways, I might have suggested that Malfoy had replaced his father as a Death Eater to which he obviously denied; and I remembered when Madam Malkin tried to touch his arm, so I told him to prove me wrong. We got into a bit of a scrap—oh, don’t give me that look—and I yanked up his sleeve and he, erm, seems to have been branded with the Dark Mark.”</p><p>“He’s what?” Hermione shrieked from behind him where she had stopped completely with her mouth agape.</p><p>“He’s a Dark Mark,” Harry repeated slowly.</p><p>“That’s—I can't believe it,” exclaimed Hermione</p><p>“Why not?” questioned Harry, annoyed that given the evidence she still denied his claim, “It’s Malfoy we’re talking about here.”</p><p>“That’s my point,” said Hermione and cast <em>Lumo</em>s when the pair entered an unlit corridor, “It is Malfoy we’re talking about, not some Death Eater. I don’t like him any more than you do, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s only a teenager! Not some hardened criminal.”</p><p>“The Dark Mark would suggest otherwise,” Harry said stubbornly.</p><p>“Yes,” started Hermione, clearly annoyed, “However, it's the difference between someone who <em>chooses</em> to follow such a radical ideology and a child bred to blindly follow said ideology; and given Malfoy’s habit to parrot his father at every opportunity, I’m prone to believe it’s the latter,” when Harry remained silent, she continued, “Honestly, it’s no small miracle you came out as sane with the way your aunt and uncle neglected you.”</p><p>“I—” Harry stuttered, then went silent completely. It had always bewildered him when anyone phrased what he had suffered at the Dursley’s hands as abuse or neglect. An image arose in Harry’s mind. His uncle’s purple face transitioned to purple as he hurled insults at him, only concluding the scolding for any minute mishap to lock Harry in the dusty cupboard. In his pantheon of Dursley scoldings, he had never been struck, which made it all the more difficult to recognise his treatment as abuse. He’d imagine Hermione would vehemently refute this, and a traitorous voice whispered that she would be correct.</p><p>“Then, what’s the difference?” asked Harry as they neared the Great Hall, “Between me and Malfoy, I mean.”</p><p>Hermione considered this for a moment, then said “Well, obviously, I’d say your aunt and uncle never extended any sort of affection to you. On the other hand, Malfoy never suffered overtly bad parenting, thus he would be far more susceptible to manipulation, especially considering the person he idolises is also his manipulator.”</p><p>“In short, you think Malfoy is being forced into the Death Eaters by his father?” Harry concluded.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Eventually, they arrived at the boringly pleasant still-life, and Hermione stiffly tickled the pear, which more resembled clawing, but the pear transformed into the homely green handle, nonetheless. Harry supposed he could not fault a painting for accepting a liberal definition of ‘tickling,’ and followed closely behind the massive bush of hair that currently obstructed his view of the kitchen.</p><p>“There’s less than usual,” said Harry upon fully entering the kitchens and watched as a few house elves scurry about in a frenzy, while some napped peacefully along the wales, and the rest were simply missing.</p><p>Hermione looked at him with an expression that could only be described as contemptuous, “Who do you think cleans the castle? I do believe I told you of this.”</p><p>“Ah, must’ve missed them all those times I slept at night. I’ll greet them next time around, if I’m awake that is,” quipped Harry to which Hermione rolled her eyes.</p><p>The house-elves that had been frantically rummaging through the kitchen cautiously approached the pair with treys packed mostly with fruits and whatever else took minimal effort to prepare, which Harry scooped up and nodded to the house elves in thanks. Appeased, the house-elves returned to their original duties at a somewhat slower pace, but still glancing at Hermione suspiciously most likely due to her affiliation with S.P.E.W.</p><p>Next to him, Hermione sighed bleakly and said, “In some aspects, our positions are fairly alike.”</p><p>“How so?” he asked, confused.</p><p>“I cannot understand the house-elves any more than you can understand Draco Malfoy, “explained Hermione, gesturing towards the elves still at work, “But, I still <em>do</em> want to help.”</p><p>Harry scoffed, “You think I want to help Malfoy?”</p><p>“It’s not that I think you <em>want </em>to help Malfoy, but I think you owe it to him to try,” Harry attempted to interrupt, but Hermione continued undeterred, “Obviously I’m not expecting you—well, I kind of do—What I’m trying to say, is that now, regardless of whether you believe Malfoy is plotting the end of the world, it would be an ample opportunity to dissuade him, because oftentimes the line between good and evil isn’t impermeable,” she finished and fixed Harry with a stern look that even McGonagall would be proud of.</p><p>“That’s—” he paused, thoughtfully watching the elves. Occasionally, a few would raise their heads to send reproachful looks towards Hermione; despite her attempts to help them, her S.P.E.W. movement had fallen flat, not for a lack of effort, but for a lack of understanding. Instead of the obnoxiously colourful clothes, Hermione knitted in a vain attempt to free the house-elves from their bondage, they still were covered in what could barely be considered clothing. Then he glanced over to see Hermione watching the house elves rather dolefully, and it was evident to Harry that although she cared deeply for her cause, her neglect towards the desires for who she meant to represent had been the fatal flaw which shattered her plans.</p><p>“You’re brilliant, Hermione!” Harry finally exclaimed.</p><p>“I am?” she asked before rolling her shoulder back and raising her chin up high, “Of course I am—Wait, does this mean?—I’m uncertain what it is you’ve taken from this conversation.”</p><p>“Malfoy was crying,” he said as though it should be obvious.</p><p>“Yes, and?” pressed Hermione.</p><p>“During the term, I think he’s made two attempts. The first, with the cursed necklace and the second being the poisoned wine. Obviously, they were meant for Dumbledore, but both were unwittingly tampered with. I think Malfoy”s realized he can’t go through with it.”</p><p>Then, Hermione suddenly whispered, “They were passive.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean,” Hermione said, nodded a silent farewell at the few house elves still working and turned, taking long strides towards the portrait hole, “Malfoy’s assassination attempts—”</p><p>“Wait, you believe me?” questioned Harry in disbelief, following closely behind.</p><p>“I do... And I’m sorry I ignored you before. Now let me finish!” said Hermione fiercely as she practically sprinted up the staircase which led to the Great Hall, “Malfoy’s been passive in his assassination attempts, and they’ve been feeble attempts at that. If he’s really taken the Dark Mark, it’s probably meant as a punishment for Lucius Malfoy. He’s a git, but he’d make an awful Death Eater.”</p><p>“Shit assassin as well,” joked Harry before regaining his seriousness, “We should inform Dumbledore.”</p><p>“No, we should not,” said Hermione.</p><p>“And why not?” Harry frowned.</p><p>Hermione spun towards him so forcefully that her hair resembled the crack of a whip in line with her movements, “You underestimate people sometimes, Harry. If anyone would know about Malfoy it would be Dumbledore. Besides, condemning him as a Death Eater would only serve to push him further into the ideology for comfort, because everyone who's not a Death Eater would obviously ridicule him for his affilation,” she gestured wildly, “From what I gathered Malfoy doesn’t seem to possess the ability to commit murder. He knows that; <em>you </em>know that! Given his position, now would be the time to, I don't know, deradicalize him!”</p><p>“I’m having a difficult time even trying to fathom what you expect from me. Whatever it is Malfoy believes, that’s for him to grow from,” Harry started defensively, “What, am I supposed to speak with him? Malfoy loathes me. That git would rather listen to a singing toad than me! Wouldn’t having Dumbledore intervene be the best option?”</p><p>“No, please, just listen to him,” Hermione heaved a deep sigh clearly frustrated and returned walking up the next flight of stairs, “Have him rely on someone other than a Death Eater, just allow Malfoy the opportunity to change. If anyone would be able to, it would be you, not Dumbledore, not his parents, and certainly not his friends. It has to be you. You’re Malfoy’s juxtaposition, oddly enough that might just help you both to sympathize with each other.”</p><p>“Alright, Hermione, I’ll try. I promise you,” said Harry with a weird feeling in his gut.</p><p>“Thank you,” she smiled softly.</p><p>Once again passing suits of armour that seemed to leer at the pair in the now dark corridors and portraits still sleeping undisturbed as they ascended the floors. When they finally entered through the portrait hole Harry spoke up, “Why do you care so strongly?”</p><p>Slowly, Hermione dramatically slogged across the red and golden carpet, and practically tackled one of the many vacant armchairs. Harry thought she had fallen asleep when Hermione responded, “I don’t want this war to go on forever. Pureblood families are intensely traditional, and I’ve always held the notion that people who cling so desperately to the concept of tradition are merely scared. Like many people, they’re scared because they were never exposed to anyone other than their immediate circle, and in this case it's muggleborns. Everyone else knows that blood lineage has no real impact on magical ability. And this stupid conflict continues because purebloods view muggleborns as outsiders, and muggleborns view purebloods as bigoted, which they definitely are. So, the proper way to do away with awful traditions is to show their scapegoat isn’t all that threatening. That’s why.”</p><p>“You want to nip this pureblood ideology by ending it with this generation,” said Harry, only now beginning to accept Hermione’s reasoning.</p><p>“Exactly,” Hermione yawned and raised groggily to her feet, “Now, I would like to retire to my bed, I’m exhausted. Goodnight, Harry.”</p><p>“Harry smiled softly and replied “Goodnight, Hermione.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Boy, A Coward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleeping peacefully within the confines of their dorm rooms, students snored rather loudly, shifted about lazily in their beds, and dreamt mostly of bewildering worlds that defied the laws of physics but made perfect sense all at the same time. In the Hospital Wing, a lone boy sat up in his bed staring angrily at the floor with no one to share in his discomfort. His fingers lightly traced the newly formed scars that protruded along his body, and no matter how he loathed his marred torso Malfoy could not force himself to think of anything but the boy who left the permanent scars. Once again, the boy was reminded that he would never truly escape Harry Potter’s name, the thought of which made him want to hurl. It would still be a few long hours until Madam Pomfrey tended to him, so Malfoy could do nothing but sit and wait, wallowing in his hatred of the Chosen One although every part of himself knew <em>he</em> was his only hope of escape.</p><p>Meanwhile, sleep evaded Harry and he lay content to stare passively at the incessant lines that curved and swirled neatly within the wood covering of his four-poster bed. He had long abandoned the pursuit of sleep because the moment he forced his eyes shut his mind would force him to recount Malfoy lying unconscious in an ocean of blood creeping ever closer to Harry. Was that what war was supposed to be? Blood that poured through every crevasse sprouting into those crimson spider lilies reaching out to encompass the world. And who was he, a mere boy, to uproot those ugly flowers when he was the one responsible for their blossoming?</p><p>As the world began to awaken with the sunrise the castle sprung to life with students pouring cheerfully into the Great Hall buzzing excitedly with anticipation for that day’s Quidditch match. When Harry arrived alongside a few other Gryffindor sixth-years who not-so-subtly ignored his presence altogether, seemingly due to his detention during the match, while a good number of Slytherins glared at him with an unrivalled fury. Word had spread quickly, and it would seem that neither Slytherins nor Gryffindors would be quick to forgive Harry, instead preferring to silently hate him in an ironic unity. The worst part was he could not blame them.</p><p>Wanting to escape the intense atmosphere that surrounded him, Harry snatched a handful of bread rolls from the pile stacked neatly surrounded by a first-year group of students. As he turned to leave, a good number of annoyed protests followed behind him, while the rest sat in stunned silence, wondering if they had really just witnessed Harry Potter steal their food.</p><p>“Ah. Potter,” said Snape when Harry entered the unpleasantly familiar office that Snape, despite teaching several floors above, had yet to vacate. Harry now stood awkwardly before the black desk that was surrounded by the same slimy dead animals and plants suspended from the ceiling, floating within coloured jars of potions stacked against the walls.</p><p>“Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files,” Snape gestured to a mountain of many cob-webbed boxes piled on top of each other, “They are records of Hogwarts misfits and their punishments. Where the ink has grown faint or the cards suffered damage, you will copy out the crimes and punishments afresh, making sure they are in alphabetical order, replace them in these their original boxes. You will not use magic.”</p><p>“Right, Professor,” Harry said with as much contempt as he could put in the last three syllables.</p><p>⚜</p><p>When the clock struck noon Snape who had not spoken at all through the duration of Harry’s detention said coldly, “I think that should do for today. You will continue at eight o’clock next Saturday.</p><p>“Yes, sir.” Harry quickly moved to stuff a bent card to mark his progress and hurried to the door, anxious to escape the stuffy office and Snape who, along with the ever-increasing number of dead animal heads, was the obvious culprit.</p><p>“Pity you’ve missed the final match. I’m certain your novice team members will be found lacking in your absence,” Snape smirked rather nastily and Harry fought to keep the anger that had lashed through him from settling onto his face, lest Snape use it as a reason to lengthen Harry’s time spent in detention.</p><p>“My teammates are all capable players, sir,” Harry stated firmly.</p><p>“You’re dismissed, Potter.”</p><p>With a deep sigh, Harry let the office door fall shut behind him. The hallway outside was completely empty, but that was to be expected during the final match of the term. It was odd wandering the completely empty castle, it wasn’t as if he had never walked through Hogwarts’ corridors alone; however, unlike many of his other adventures, it was daytime.</p><p>As he approached the Great Hall a single girl leaned back the stone a few meters from the door. She stared intently at the wall across her, as if she were in the midst of plotting a murder, or at the very least, how to cover up the evidence. The girl’s dark hair, her most notable feature, was thick and messy, stubbornly stuck out in every direction resembling more of a bird’s nest than actual hair. Beneath a heavy fringe of bangs, her eyes, permanently stained by sickly dark circles, peered out, watching him the way one would passively watch people hurrying down a busy street corner.</p><p>“Hello, Potter,” the girl spoke up casually as Harry drew closer, “I suppose the rumours were true then.”</p><p>“I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to.”</p><p>“What else?” the girl leaned forward then slouched further backward when Harry stopped a foot or so away, “You not being able to attend today’s match stirred up quite a scandal, but you must be aware of that much. People are also gossiping about what caused your absence as well. Rather vile rumours if I do say so myself.”</p><p>“I’m sure they are,” said Harry stiffly, surprisingly making no effort to move past her.</p><p>“Is there any truth to them?” She smirked and cocked an eyebrow, and Harry suspected she already knew the answer to that question.</p><p>“So, is the match still going?”</p><p>She glanced from side-to-side in an over-exaggerated motion, “Seems as such.”</p><p>“Then why are you here?” Harry asked, confused as to why anyone would purposely skip their own house’s quidditch match.</p><p>The girl shrugged, then said, “Sports, regardless if they are played by wizards or muggles, are intensely boring.”</p><p>“Pierra!” sang a birdlike voice, then a striking head a white blonde hair pranced through the Great Hall’s doorway, “Whacha doing?”</p><p>“Ah, nothing,” the girl, now Pierra, smiled softly at the other girl and took her hand in her own, “Just waiting for you.”</p><p>The first thing he noticed about her, despite the shock of white-blonde hair that could only ever be camouflaged by fresh snow, was the disproportionately large stormy-green eyes that seemed filled with a murderous, unappeasable hatred of everything and anything. Fortunately, or unfortunately for her, this sat in direct juxtaposition with her overtly innocent appearance, which was only exemplified by the flowery white dress she currently adorned. Then, she fixed Harry with a rather accusatory stare and asked, more demanded, “Were you flirting with Pierra?”</p><p>“Err, no,” Harry said awkwardly.</p><p>“Well, g—Wait. You’re Harry Potter.”</p><p>A second passed before Harry responded, “Yes, and you are?”</p><p>“Adalia Yaxley.”</p><p>Another second passed, though, Pierra was the one to speak up this time around, “C’mon stop giving the bloke such a hard time. Let’s spend some time in the common room before the others return,” she tugged on Adalia’s hand, which was tightly clasped around hers, then turned back to Harry, “Sorry about this. Nice meeting you, Harry.”</p><p>“Yeah, have a nice day!” Adalia chimed along brightly.</p><p>Harry nodded at the pair, grateful to escape whatever their conversation was, and watched as the girls rounded a corner with their hands still clasped together.</p><p>Heaving a deep sigh that sounded more like a groan to anyone within earshot, Harry turned towards the Great Hall’s entrance and passed through the massive doorway. Inside, there were still a few students sprinkled around the tables, mostly populating those of Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but he supposed that was to be expected. Harry slowly walked towards, the Gryffindor table, snatching the first plate within reach on the way, and began loading it with slices of ham, baked potatoes, and Cornish pasties. Nothing less than the balanced diet of an athlete. Ignoring the plate of broccoli, and even less appealing spinach, that sat pile high among its other food groups, he grabbed a knife and fork and started at his meal.</p><p>Down the table, a few what he could only assume to be first years stared curiously at him, which he ignored in hopes to avoid another awkward encounter instead focusing wholly on the contents of his plate and how quickly he could consume them as to escape the growing number of eyes on him. Harry found himself clenching his jaw as he swallowed down his food and wondered what he should do when he finished. He could watch the rest of the match, but he was not quite sure how he would handle the disappointment in the stand if Gryffindor lost, nor the excitement from the Ravenclaw is they won. He could wait back in the dorms but figured it would risk the same problem only delayed by the time it took for the house and team to tramp upstairs. There was the Room of Requirement, which would be free from the occasional student or professor passing by, but Harry imagined a consequential nagging voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermione and decided against retrieving the Half-Blood Prince’s book.</p><p>Lastly, he thought of Malfoy, more so the unadulterated hatred that filled his eyes Harry saw despite the darkness that shrouded Hogwarts during the night-time and the all too eventful night. Once again, with a certain nagging voice as inspiration, he grabbed a plate beside him and began to fill it with anything within reach, pausing at the banoffee pie, Harry considered it as carefully as one might consider a physics equation. <em>Did Malfoy like sweets?</em> To be perfectly honest, Harry could not quite remember the last time he watched Malfoy eat, well, anything. There was that one time his mother had sent him chocolates, so he supposed it would not be too devasting if he piled on a handful of sweets.</p><p>Several pairs of eyes, some more hostile than others, followed Harry as he abruptly stood from the table and made his way back towards the entrance. When he reached the entrance, Harry took an abrupt right.</p><p>Slower than a snail’s pace, he walked to where Malfoy would surely be resting. With every step, his body seemed to increase in weight, pulling Harry into the stone floor. Despite his sluggish movements, his mind ran hundreds of thousands of times faster, bringing about images of awful blood-red branches that stretched out for him, surrounding him until the entire floor had been transformed into a never-ending field of those familiar and dying red flowers. Tentatively, Harry took a step forward, then another, and another. Across the field, a limping figure appeared, pale and haunty skin which grew all the more pale in contrast to his pitch-black robes. Then the figure collapsed and the spider lilies which surrounded him transitioned into a darker shade of red. Harry closed his eyes tightly.</p><p>Then, he was standing before the Hospital Wing. The field had disappeared along with the figure, replaced by the ordinary and comfortable corridors. After a deep and unsteady breath, he entered.</p><p>There he sat wrapped in several blankets he had possibly stripped from the other unused hospital beds, and a glance around the room confirmed that notion. Amusingly, Malfoy appeared as prideful as ever despite his current circumstance and Harry could, to some degree, appreciate his consistency. However, the boy was still paler than his usual self if that were possible. His cheeks held none of the rosy pink that would typically stain one’s cheeks, nor were his movements without a certain strain, which upon observing made Harry cringe at the sight.</p><p>“Potter,” Malfoy spat out with fierce contempt.</p><p>“Er, hello. Look,” Harry sighed inwardly at Malfoy’s unbridled anger, “I wanted to apologize. Properly that is.”</p><p>“Do you now?” Malfoy said with such sarcasm that Harry would not have been surprised if venom suddenly burst from his teeth and soaked the hospital sheets draped around him so that they resembled more a toga.</p><p>“Where is Madam Pomfrey?” asked Harry, craning his neck about.</p><p>“She’s attending the match.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I’ve brought you some food,” Harry said lamely, attempting to smoother the increasingly wayward atmosphere and began to cautiously approach the other boy who seemed about ready to slug Harry until he turned black and blue and the various other shades his skin would permit.</p><p>“You did?” Malfoy’s eyes wracked Harry up and down as if assessing whether Harry would attack him. Shifting his weight foot to foot, Harry glanced at the doorway and wondered if Hermione would be disappointed if he failed to endure another conversation with Malfoy. However, he had a feeling that enduring Malfoy’s company would be far less painful than the insufferable anguish caused by one of Hermione’s lectures if he were to go against her plan.</p><p>“Yes, I did,” said Harry and shoved the plate out towards Malfoy.</p><p>Malfoy’s eyes narrowed even further if that was possible and he jutted his chin upward in a condescending motion, regarding the plate as if were a pile of rubbish. Alongside his movements, Malfoy’s buttoned shirts shifted to reveal sharp collarbones that looked all too prominent against his already slender chest.<em> Had he always been so skinny?</em> Harry wondered, mentally comparing Malfoy’s stature to his own.</p><p>“Why don’t I believe you’ve attended my sickbed out of the kindness of your heart,” Malfoy finally said.</p><p>“Believe what you want, it doesn’t change why I’m here,” Harry shrugged and placed the plate of food carefully on Malfoy’s bedside table, “I just want to talk. Really.”</p><p>“You sound like you plan to break up with me,” Malfoy deadpanned, and Harry fought back the urge to roll his eyes.</p><p>“Whatever,” muttered Harry, “As I’ve said—believe what you want.”</p><p>Harry watched as thin hands wrapped around either side of the plate, he had set down not even a minute ago. It was an indescribably odd feeling, the sight of Malfoy accepting anything, even food, from him. Although, Harry certainly felt content to label that indescribable feeling as weird and ignore prodding at it further. Carefully, Malfoy prepped the plate on his lap and plucked a singular bread roll from among the other slush. He lifted the roll to his line of sight and slowly brought it closer to his eye, and Harry could have sworn Malfoy was inspecting an expensive emerald rather than a mere bread roll.</p><p>“I didn’t poison it, you prick,” Harry blurted out and Malfoy let out an exasperated breath.</p><p>“Well, I can’t be certain of that, now, can I?” Malfoy said, returning the roll to the plate.</p><p>Harry scoffed, “I’m not <em>you</em>, Malfoy.” He regretted it almost immediately.</p><p>“And what’s that supposed to mean?” said Malfoy indignantly, refusing to let his eyes stray towards Harry’s face, and, thus, kept them fixated on the plate of food in his lap. Once again, he felt as if he were spying on Malfoy while the boy sobbed uncontrollably. Harry frowned.</p><p>“I—It wasn’t,” Harry paused, then said, “I think you know.”</p><p>“I don’t bloody understand you!” exclaimed Malfoy, “What are you playing at?”</p><p>“What’s there to not understand?” Harry asked in a frustrated tone.</p><p>“You know everything you could possibly want to know! You’ve solved the mystery, Master Auror. So, why don’t you go tattle to Saint Dumbledore?”</p><p>Taking a long sigh, Harry glanced up at the thick-glassed windows and watched the owls perched on the opposite side of the thick windows shuffle about. Beside him, Malfoy lifted his gaze ever so slightly to study the other boy. It was a calculating look, and Harry was struck with the inexplicable urge to leave and forget this entire plan he and Hermione had conducted. Remaining enemies was a whole lot easier, anyways. Nonetheless, Harry opened his mouth to respond.</p><p>“The truth,” said Malfoy suddenly and Harry felt as he had been struck across the face.</p><p>Harry remained motionless for a long moment, then mustered a faint smile, “The truth it is, then,” another moment passed before he continued as if he were speaking to a rather temperamental child, “I—Er, I suppose, it’s that as much as we have our disagreements,” he stated, gesturing between them back-and-forth, “I don’t want to see you become one of those Death Eaters, Malfoy, and I don’t think you want to become one either.”</p><p>“It doesn’t concern <em>that</em>. Understand?” snapped Malfoy, “So why don’t you just bugger off on some grand adventure and keep out of <em>my</em> business.”</p><p>“How exactly do you expect me to go about that?” Harry sputtered, “This isn’t some sort of harmless game.”</p><p>“Don’t you think I would know that? You don’t understand. He’ll kill them and then he’ll kill me,” the crack in Malfoy’s voice was enough to make Harry’s chest twinge ever so slightly, though he would claim otherwise if prompted.</p><p>“Still.”</p><p>“It’s something I <em>have</em> to do. I wouldn’t expect you to understand!” Malfoy yelled.</p><p>“Then explain it to me, you twat!” Harry yelled back.</p><p>“How can I? You don’t exactly have parents—"</p><p>“How original,” Harry said only mildly offended and turned to tug the scruff of hair that was resting annoyingly above his eyes.</p><p>“This is all happening,” Malfoy gestured wildly, speaking with a frantic tilt to his voice, “Given the state of things. Muggleborns—mudbloods—are a threat to us. They always have been. There’s nothing you or any—”</p><p>“Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?”</p><p>“Yes, I do, Potter, and it’s you who’s not listening. It’s <em>them </em>or <em>us</em>! You must understand!”</p><p>“You’re barking,” scoffed Harry.</p><p>“Oh, my apologies,” said Malfoy in a fit of farce anger, “I was unaware we were all expected to adorn the mantel of the world’s saviour.”</p><p>“And what about everyone else you’ll sacrifice for your sorry arse? Voldemort would happily kill them instead,” Malfoy flinched away, “Are they just cannon fodder?” When Malfoy remained silent with his eyes once again fixated downwards, Harry said dully, “I’m wasting my time. I should have just watched the bloody match.”</p><p>Malfoy seemed to think over Harry’s words over. Then darted from the confines of his hospital bed, surprising Harry as a cold and bonelike hand wrapped around his wrist a pulled him back with more strength than what Malfoy should have possessed in his current state. Harry felt him pulling on it to lift himself up, palms and fingers chilled so that they felt as they had been scorched with an icy flame, and then he tugged upwards so that he was now hovering their arms in front of his face.</p><p>“Don’t scurry away just yet, Potter,” he hissed as he slowly dug his fingers into a vicelike grip, “Your pathetic attempts at playing the friend are rather insulting if you think I’d fall for them. Explain this! Explain that! I could explain all day and you still wouldn’t bloody listen.”</p><p>“Shove it, Malfoy,” Harry sneered, snatching his hand away, “I came to <em>help</em> you, not to bear witness to you list off your sorry excuses. <em>I </em>haven’t a peaceful life, but you don’t see me going off and attempting murder!”</p><p>“Ha!” shrieked Malfoy before breaking into a nerve-wracking fit of laughter.</p><p>Harry felt a study blush slowly start to creep across his face, and he returned to his earlier and far more pleasant fantasies of existing anywhere but within the same plane of existence as Draco Malfoy. As Malfoy continued his harsh barks of laughter, Harry felt his chest grow tight as the blush slowly engulfed his entire face. Before he could say anything, however, Malfoy straightened himself with a wild look in his eyes, drew his arm back, and slammed his fist into Harry’s jaw. Caught off guard by the suddenness of everything, Harry fell backward, slamming his back into the metal bars of the hospital bed on his way down. A sharp pain shot through his back and Harry felt a new sense of irony with a fresh wave of pain. Malfoy stood towering above him, with laboured breaths that required his whole chest and glared down at him with a ferocity he had never quite seen before.</p><p>“What the fuck, Malfoy?” said Harry, which sent Malfoy into another fit of rage as he descended upon Harry, jabbing bony fists, elbows, and knees everywhere he could reach. Of course, Harry was a bit more prepared this time, bringing his arms up to shield his head, he kicked outwards, landing one foot in Malfoy’s stomach who groaned loudly and rolled over clutching his sides.</p><p>Before Malfoy had enough time to pick himself up, Harry was on top of him, kneeling on Malfoy’s thighs and pinning his arms to the ground beside him. Beneath him, Malfoy continued to squirm about, trying desperately to escape Harry’s hold, so that he could once again resume punching the boy. So, Harry instead opted to straddle Malfoy and shifted his weight to completely fall on his already delicate wrists.</p><p>“Enough!” Harry shouted and the glasses that had somehow managed to remain on his face began to creep annoyingly down his hid nose bridge.</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“No, you listen to me. You don’t have to go through with this. There’s a way out. Dumbledore—”</p><p>“Dumbledore can’t do anything,” his voice cracked, and Harry loosened his grip ever-so-slightly, “He’s a weak old man! You think <em>he </em>can defeat—"</p><p>“Yes, I do,” said Harry firmly and when Malfoy remained silent, too preoccupied with glaring glassy eyed at Harry, he continued, “Dumbledore can protect you; he can help your family. This isn’t something you <em>have </em>to do, and just know, whatever it is you’re planning in the Room of Requirement—"</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“I’ll stop you,” concluded Harry, ignoring Malfoy’s interruption, “Malfoy, just tell me, is this what you want? Can you really go through with this?”</p><p>“Of course? No? I—I don’t know,” frustrated tears threatened to escape from Malfoy’s eyes as he started up at Harry, “I just don’t…”</p><p>“Well, I believe we might have interrupted one of their sessions, dear Pansy,” a smug voice drifted casually from somewhere behind the inconspicuous pair. Possibly for the first time in their lives Harry and Malfoy shared a silent agreement, because both their heads whipped towards the entrance of the Hospital Wing in utter terror.</p><p>“Sessions?” Malfoy sputtered, using the distraction to subtly wipe away the tears that now stained his cheeks.</p><p>“I’m not trying to kill him, I swear it,” Harry declared desperately at the same time, remembering the already spiteful rumours floating about the school.</p><p>“Oh, I quite doubt you are, Potter,” snorted Zabini, ignoring Malfoy’s continued sputtering.</p><p>“Fantastic,” said Harry, lifting himself from Malfoy who still laid plastered to the floor beneath him. Harry, then, offered his hand out towards Malfoy in hopes of establishing a sort of flimsy peace treaty between themselves, and, in turn, Malfoy stared at his hand as if he were once again examining a bread roll. Watching Malfoy’s unbridled suspicion, Harry was not sure whether to be offended or simply not surprised by the other boy’s mistrust. Finally, Malfoy grabbed at his outstretched hand, lacing thin fingers around his palm. It was the second time that evening that Malfoy had left Harry in complete shock by the ease at which Malfoy accepted what he had offered, and there was the slightest twinge of satisfaction in that.</p><p>“Potter, you’ll be delighted to know—if I’m not mistaken—Gryffindor wasn’t utterly defeated,” said Zabini, flitting his eyes questionably between the two boys.</p><p>“They won?” said Harry with a strange mixture of excitement and embarrassment. He tugged one Malfoy’s hand still clasped in his own, and the boy stood up rather easily, only bumping Harry’s shoulder as he did so. Malfoy continued to his bed. With Harry’s eyes still on him, Malfoy sank into the bed, wrapping the already rumpled blankets around his torso. “I’ve gotta go, Harry said to no one in particular, still watching Malfoy who stared back at him, this time without the defiance he had grown accustomed to.</p><p>For a moment, Harry felt he ought to say something else to Malfoy, an apology, an explanation, or anything else really, but that moment passed, and he turned on his heal towards the Hospital Wing’s entrance.</p><p>From somewhere behind him, Zabini cleared his throat and said, “We have to talk.”</p><p>“And if I don’t want to?”</p><p>“Then <em>I</em> will talk, and <em>you</em> will listen.”</p><p>Just outside the Hospital Wing Pansy stood leaning her ear towards the opening where hushed voices could still be vaguely heard. Upon his approach, Pansy straightened herself instinctively, but in the space of a couple of seconds the expression in her eyes betrayed what she had been doing, and the half-hearted plan Harry had conducted to spy on Malfoy and Zabini’s conversation died right there. Instead, he continued down the corridor, ignoring the suspicious stare that followed him. Harry looked back once, and in the time it took him to reach the now crowded Great Hall, Pansy had disappeared into the Hospital Wing.</p><p>Harry meandered along the corridors, several groups of students overtook as he did so with some, mostly younger Gryffindors, glancing back at him as they passed by. A small urge told him to hurry along, and Harry imagined himself bursting into a full-throttle sprint towards the Gryffindor tower so that he might join the celebrations; but, he kept walking at the same pace, ignoring everything that told him to do otherwise. In every which direction, shadows, occasionally obstructed by the passing students, walked with, some, he noticed, were darker than others. His eyes passively traced along the edges of the shadows and he watched as they mimicked his movements, some quicker than others.</p><p>When he found himself at the end of the corridor, the staircase stood waiting for him, and part of him silently wished that it had been busy helping some other students along. So, with a sluggish breath, Harry began his climb up the stairs, one tired step after another. Following what was simultaneously an eternity and a mere few seconds, Harry stood before the Fat Lady who stared down at him from her portrait.</p><p><em>“Quid agis,”</em> he said tentatively.</p><p>Her unreadable expression softened for a moment, and Harry wondered if she mistook his wandering thoughts for apprehension. Then, she said, “You’ll see.”</p><p>And she swung forward.</p><p>A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as hordes of people began to scream and cheer; however, whether their excitement was directed at the sight of him of just from the air of festivities, he could not be certain. Then, sever hands pulled him into the room and Harry hear the familiar sound of the portrait slamming shut behind him.</p><p>“We won!” yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”</p><p>Ginny brushed through the throngs of people; she had a blazing look in her face as she cupped the back of his head on either side and pressed her lips to his. An unparalleled feeling surged through his body. A prickly tingle roared to life in his chest and throat and head and stomach, then nothing. Harry could only focus on the opened mouthed lips pressed against his and what they must have looked like to everyone crowding in around the two. It was as if he had passed a movie on the telly and the picture displayed on the screen was the moment the protagonist finally managed to convince his romantic interest to attend the prom with him. Though he wasn’t the protagonist, instead he was the viewer, all too distant from the event to possibly experience the entirety of the protagonist’s fulfillment. And only then did his cheeks flush a deep shade of red.</p><p>After extraordinarily long seconds—or it might have been an hour—or possibly several eternities—they broke apart. The room had gone quiet, and there was nothing more Harry wanted than to trek back down to the Hospital Wing and endure another agonising conversation with Malfoy because somehow that had been less awkward than the curious stares all on him and Ginny. Harry looked over the top of Ginny’s head to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and Romilda Vane looking as though she might throw something. Hermione was beaming, but Harry’s eyes sought Ron. Still clutching the silver Cup and wearing an expression that suggested he had been clubbed over the head, Ron met his eyes and broke into a brilliant grin that rivalled a child who had just discovered mountains of sweets. Harry felt his something settle itself low in his stomach, but he was not quite sure why.</p><p>⚜</p><p>It was no surprise when Harry got wind of the various speculative rumours concerning his relationship with Ginny Weasley. At least not after, a good number of girls had asked him directly several times over the course of breakfast, lunch, and supper; and a smaller number of boys either shot jealous looks his way or nodded their support in passing. However, he supposed his current predicament was far better than the prior gossip circulating of his involvement in the horrific scene of Dark Magic that had taken place not even a week ago Although the Slytherin students were still very much inclined to snidely remind him of Malfoy’s injuries.</p><p>The day after the Gryffindor’s celebration party that left the vast majority of the house groaning and mumbling at the rays of sunlight that managed to infiltrate their dorm room’s window curtains, was a groggy one to be sure. Whereas his peers could alleviate their suffering with knowledge of their victory, Harry’s day had seemingly been overshadowed with dodging every question Ron sent his way concerning he and Ginny’s relationship status. In fact, the questioning had grown so constant that Harry had taken up tracking Ron’s movements on the Marauder’s Map to avoid his friend. The questions themselves hadn’t been too terribly intrusive if you were to ask Harry; however, his lack of answer, alongside their maddening frequency, is what drove to his current hiding spot between two bookshelves in the library. It was the last place Ron would check for him, of that Harry was certain. All too preoccupied with the Weasley siblings, what he had failed to anticipate was Hermione, who had dropped into the seat beside him with a purposeful air about her and sat silently flipping through whatever book she was invested in these days.</p><p>After thirty minutes of Harry scribbling out what vaguely resembled a Herbology essay and staring blankly at the bookshelves across from him whenever he could not think of what words to scribble next, Hermione closed her book with a notable thud and Harry glanced sideways to see <em>An Introduction to Binding Contractual Magic</em>, printed a dull-looking leather-bound book.</p><p>“Looking to become a lawyer?” Harry muttered jokingly.</p><p>Hermione, in turn, sighed, pushed away the book in front of her in favour of <em>Advanced Runes Translation</em>, then said, “No, I’ve decided to research that stuff you said about Snape taking an Unbreakable Vow.”</p><p>“You did?” asked Harry, surprised by the information, and Hermione nodded in return, “Well, have you found anything?”</p><p>“Nothing all that useful. I’m not even sure what I was looking for, admitted Hermione.”</p><p>“Then, I suppose it went about as well as me visiting Malfoy,” Harry said sheepishly.</p><p>Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, “You actually talked with him?”</p><p>“There was some punching involved,” Harry shrugged, and Hermione giggled quietly.</p><p>“Can’t really blame you there, a little of the git certainly goes a long way,” she paused with a serious look on her face, “Anything else?”</p><p>Harry locked his eyes on the last few sentences he had managed to scribble out, scanning over the lines repeatedly until he abandoned his efforts to make the words registered in his mind. Instead, he lifted the quill from the place it had been resting for the past two minutes and rocked it between his figures as if considering his next words. Hermione shifted so that she was fully facing his direction, and Harry tensed, for whatever reason not ready to give the answer she was clearly expecting. He remained silent, still attempting to construct a cohesive thought, but the only thing he could accurately recall between all the harsh words, and even harsher fist that had struck his jaw, was his own anger and meagre tears that had managed to escape Malfoy’s eyes before Zabini had thankfully interrupted them.</p><p>“He—Malfoy seemed conflicted.”</p><p>“How so?” pressed Hermione.</p><p>“Well, along with being his usual arsehole self, he,” Harry trailed off, choosing his next words deliberately, “I think he wants me to stop him… If that makes sense.”</p><p>“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione pursed her lips so tightly that Professor McGonagall would be disgraced, “But you know him better than me.”</p><p>“What makes you think that?” Harry objected and Hermione shot him a pointed look. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he conceded.</p><p>A silence descended upon them, interrupted only by the footsteps, and shuffling of other students, and of Madam Pince who occasionally passed by, eyeing the students as she did so. With nothing else to do and lost as to write next for his Herbology essay, Harry scanned the library, occasionally letting his gaze linger on some minor detail he had not seen before. Across from him, sitting on the crammed together on the shelves, were possibly hundreds of books that looked as if they had managed to survive several centuries, at least, they certainly smelled like it. When Harry could not quite make out the titles of particular books, he looked upwards, examining the bookshelves’ top layer of dark wooden panels which jutted out like the edges of cobwebs between each spiral pillar. Above, floated golden chandeliers with similarly coloured candles that Harry suspected never required replacement.</p><p>“I’m just surprised you didn’t go directly to the match,” said Hermione, unknowingly drawing his attention away from the architecture.</p><p>Harry shrugged, deciding it best to not mention the worries that plagued his mind almost all of yesterday, “Got to talking to some students after I left Snape’s office. Honestly, I can’t understand why anyone would want to miss the match. I mean, it was the House Cup, for Merlin’s sake!”</p><p>“There were students at school? During a quidditch match?” Hermione gasped sarcastically, “They might actually pass their classes.”</p><p>“I talked to two of them, actually. You should’ve seen this one girl’s hair,” Harry said, bringing his hands up to the sides of his head and expanding them outwardly as if to suggest an explosion, “It looked straight out of one of those rock bands. Merlin, it felt like I was being investigated talking to her.”</p><p>“Wonder how that feels.”</p><p>“Oh, and the blonde one, I swear she was a second away from biting my head off for talking to the other one,” Harry chuckled at the memory.</p><p>“Do you know their names?”</p><p>“Er,” started Harry, recounting his encounter with the odd pair, “Adalia Yaxley and Pierra… Pierra—I don’t recall a surname.”</p><p>“Adalia Yaxley?” Hermione hummed quietly to herself, “I’m pretty sure she’s dating Pierra Beaumont.”</p><p>“Dating?” Harry said incredulously, mouth agape.</p><p>“Yes, it made quite a stir amongst the girls when they were found out,” Hermione affirmed matter-of-factly, “It didn’t help that they went about it so openly after the fact.”</p><p>“Now that you’ve mentioned it, they did act as any other couple would,” said Harry thoughtfully.</p><p>“I do wish the girls would stop bullying them for it and mind their own business,” said Hermione and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, ‘but what can you do.’</p><p>Harry leaned back in his chair, stretching his neck side-to-side while eyeing the frown that seemed to be stuck on Hermione’s face. At the very least, it made sense he supposed. Among the students, especially those of pureblood status, sex had always been something not to be discussed as if it were a dirty family secret, and only ever met with hushed, but solemn whispers. As such, it stood to reason that any deviancy would be met with scorn or worse. Actually, he could not remember any mention of homosexuality, at least among the boys, and if there had been such a discussion, he certainly was not an active participant.</p><p>“I wasn’t aware of…”</p><p>“Of course, you wouldn’t be. I can’t imagine the Wizarding World would be open to, erm, that sort of lifestyle in general, with all the stiffness around muggleborns,” she explained, “Pureblood families would probably see queer wizards as a sort of hindrance to their family lines.”</p><p>“S’pose those feelings are only natural,” said Harry in a rather off-handed manner, faintly recalling his uncle’s indignant rants whenever his eyes were accosted with the sight of a more feminine looking man, or his cousin’s liberal use of the words queer and bent.</p><p>“I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Why is that?”</p><p>Hermione considered his question for a moment, then said carefully, “I don’t think a person’s attraction is something they can really <em>decide</em> for themselves. For example, when did you decide you were attracted to Ginny Weasley,” she finished with a smug grin, to which Harry groaned, letting his head fall to the table dramatically.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it,” mumbled Harry and Hermione snickered gleefully beside him.</p><p>“Funnily enough, I could have figured that much out for myself. Honestly, Harry, what’s gotten into you? Ron’s been asking after you all day,” she exclaimed, making a point to stare at him while he remained face down on the table.</p><p>A minute or an hour or possibly two days seemed to have passed before Harry spoke up again, “It’s just all been too much too quickly, and I don’t know, we—me and Ginny—haven’t exactly discussed our relationship status.”</p><p>At that, Hermione frowned rather deeply, although Harry did not notice, seeing as his face was still buried in the Herbology essay he had previously been working on, “I don’t want to pressure you—”</p><p>“Then don’t.”</p><p>“But I assumed that meant you two were an item.”</p><p>Harry sighed, for what felt like the millionth time that day, looking up to where Hermione was still staring intently at him, he said anxiously, “This is all new, Hermione, and I’m not sure if dating is what even I want along with everything else,” he gestured outwardly, “That’s going on. I thought it was…”</p><p>Cautiously, Hermione thumbed-close the book she had been reading and instead rested her arms on the table, still looking over at Harry. A shaft of moonlight crossed her face, illuminating her curious eyes above all else. Harry forced back the strong urge to turn away and ignore whatever she intended to say next, although it would surely do no good given her annoyingly persistent behaviour.</p><p>“We’ve got to be on our way.”</p><p>Confused, but nonetheless relieved by the sudden omission, Harry nodded and quickly turned to shove the unfinished essay into his schoolbag full of other crumpled parchment and textbooks. Hermione stood up and the chair scooted backward in accordance. Hoisting her satchel over her shoulder, Hermione strutted across the alongside the table, mechanically shoving ornately carved wooden chairs back into their proper position as she did so. Harry followed behind her, leaving the books he had snagged from the shelves on the table. The pair passed several rows of bookshelves with a few students still scattered about the tables where they sat engrossed in their own homework, while others sat chatting quietly, only pretending to read whenever Madam Pince passed by like some sort of grim reaper. Madam Pince looked up at the pair, looked at the window, frowned in a way that made the marionette lines around her mouth all the more prominent, then began to chide nearby students for not also leaving the library for the night.</p><p>Outside the library, the corridors were dimly and the shadows that fell across Hermione’s face, flickering suddenly along with the firelight, made her expression almost unreadable. Behind them, several students who had been forced out by Madam Pince strolled to the library’s entrance, muttered their goodbyes to the cluster of students, and continued their strolls to presumably wherever their dormitories were located. Harry's eyes flitted between the students as they did so, lingering for a moment on the ones dressed in Slytherin colours.</p><p>The pair walked in silence. Besides him, Hermione ruffled through her bag, pulling out several sheets of paper at once, she began flipping through them while muttering incoherently. Harry stared forward, watching the torches flicker and grow faint as they passed by. Occasionally, the inhabitants of one painting or another would watch as they passed, and others would jostle awake the good number of paintings snoring rather noticeably, then try to fall asleep themselves before the snorers resumed sleeping.</p><p>They passed another corridor, this one stretching back until it was encompassed in total darkness. A shiver ran through Harry’s spine and settle on the back of his neck.</p><p>Something was there.</p><p>A preliminary glance revealed the outlines of a shockingly white face, void of anything that would constitute emotion, appeared within his peripheral vision. It was as if time had slowed around that one image, and a second stretched onto eternity. There lying on the floor, almost completely shrouded in shadows, was a pale, almost blue face staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Harry snapped his head back towards the corridor, but unlike the image seared into his mind, nothing was there.</p><p>“What is it, Harry?”</p><p>He turned back around and saw that Hermione was several steps ahead of him, looking at him with an expression that was a distinct combination of both curiosity and unease.</p><p>Harry shook his head and said, “Ah, nothing.”</p><p>Hermione raised her head to look at whatever had caught his attention, and when she found nothing there, she hesitantly continued walking when Harry reached her. Thankfully, when they arrived at the portrait hole nothing else of significance had occurred, save for the occasional painting that hushed the pair.</p><p><em>“Quid agis,”</em> she said to the Fat Lady who huffed dramatically and swung open.</p><p>“You’ll have to figure it out eventually. About Ginny, I mean,” said Hermione, casting a half-apprehensive glace at the portrait hole, “Sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>The common room was still pact full older students chatting lively with one another. Against the red and gold colours that adorn the room, a fire roared to life, which was currently being crowded around by several seventh and sixth-year boys tossing crumpled wads of parchment at each other, screeching whenever one hit its intended target. Meanwhile, girls of all years lounged in the padded couches and chairs that seemed to completely absorb the younger girls. <em>When had first-years gotten so small?</em> Much to Hermione’s dismay, there was not much schoolwork being done.</p><p>Upon their entrance, several heads looked their way, some voicing friendly greetings before returning to whatever they had been doing.</p><p>“Harry,” Seamus practically yelled, waving him over to join the boys crowed around the fireplace.</p><p>Harry smiled faintly and shook his head at Seamus. Following Seamus’s invitation, Dean, Ron, and Neville glanced up and grinned broadly, obviously still caught up in whatever game they were playing. He had half-a-mind to join; however, they would be expected to attend Prefect duty soon enough, and resting before doing so sounded much more appealing. So, he continued to the boy’s dormitory.</p><p>Halfway up the staircase, a large explosion shook the tower, followed by both screams of terror and jeers. The latter most likely directed towards what he assumed was Seamus’s face blackened by ash. When the last shouts settled down, now completely replaced by teasing remarks, Harry resumed his climb up the tower.</p><p>Inside the dormitory, there were items scattered across the floor like a chessboard nearing the end of a game. Where the other boy’s spaces were tidied within reason, Harry’s four-poster bed and the floor beneath it laid strewn with the possessions he had been too lazy to return to its proper place. He chided himself momentarily for the mess but made no move to resolve the issue. Another day perhaps. Atop of his trunk, lay the bloodstain robes, now crumpled in certain places by what he knew was dried blood. Harry thumbed over the particularly flat stains, hardened by blood, and found himself disgusted by the texture. His hand dipped into the pocket, pulling out Malfoy’s wand. Tossing the robes aside, he studied the wand. It was simple in appearance, at least, when compared to his own. The wand itself was sleek, carved from fine quality wood, with a smooth black grip that gradually transitioned into a dark brown as his eyes moved further up the wand. It suited Malfoy.</p><p>A creak sounded from somewhere behind him.</p><p>Harry spun around, shoving the Hawthorne wand in his robe pocket, and drawing his own. A flash of red hair caught his eye, and Harry felt his heart sputter to a halt, then pick-up a normal rate as his arm fell to his side.</p><p>“You alright, mate?” Ron asked, eyebrows furrowed, and the slightest look of alarm flashed through his eyes. He slowly moved further into the room, nearing the foot of Harry’s bed.</p><p>Harry released a sigh of relief and stuffed his wand back in his pocket, “Just been on edge lately, that’s all.”</p><p>“Hermione said you’ve been visiting Malfoy.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Look, mate,” Ron sighed dramatically, though concern was still prevalent on his face,” I’m not saying that spell you used on Malfoy was great—”</p><p>“Nor am I.”</p><p>“But you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Without the Prince’s bezoar tip,” Ron drew his finger significantly across his throat, “I wouldn’t be here, now would I? Besides, by the sounds of it, Malfoy would’ve done worse to you, and he wouldn’t have been as mopey about it.”</p><p>“You’re probably right…” Harry found himself saying, despite his conscience squirming slightly all the same.</p><p>“Do you still got detention with Snape this Saturday?” Ron continued.</p><p>“Yeah, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that,” sighed Harry, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ll continue on next year.”</p><p>Ron snorted rather loudly, “Oh, that reminds me, Ginny’s been asking after you.”</p><p>“How’d <em>that</em> remind you?” Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend who shrugged nonchalantly.</p><p>“It just did.”</p><p>“I’ve been meaning to talk to her,” Harry said with a smile that more resembled a grimace.</p><p>“If this is about—"</p><p>“It’s not,” he said quickly.</p><p>“I support you guys. I don’t want you to feel awkward because of me.”</p><p>Harry stood frozen, unsure of what to say. Ron stared back at him with a meaningful look written across his face. Harry studied his friend’s face and cursed Hermione for possibly jinxing him. <em>Sooner rather than later. </em>That is what she had said. Well, it certainly was ‘sooner.’ Too soon. He had wanted to discuss things privately with Ginny, to figure out their relationship, but it seemed Ron unknowingly would not allow them the opportunity. Many things would have been much simpler if Ron had just outright rejected any budding romance between him and Ginny. Including figuring out his own doubts.</p><p>Finally, Harry found his voice and despite any reservations, said “Thanks, mate. I needed to hear that.”</p><p>Ron beamed and Harry’s heart sank pitifully into his stomach.</p><p>“C’mon, Hermione will give us an earful if we stay up here too long,” Ron said, turning to leave the dormitory, and Harry felt himself nodding along.</p><p>The boys wandered into the common room where Hermione sat waiting for them. At their arrival, she stood up and silently joined the pair, making sure to stand beside Ron.</p><p>As they parted ways, Harry found himself once again hurrying down the route which he knew would lead to the Hospital Wing. He passed where Pansy should have been waiting for him. Unsurprisingly the girl was nowhere to be seen. He was alone as he descended through the seemingly endless labyrinth of floors. While the corridors had been dimly lit when he and Hermione left the library, they were now almost completely entrenched in darkness, only ever lessened by the occasional window that allowed the moonlight to bathe everything within reach; and, Harry found as more time passed in his journey the more he looked at the windows with relief in his eyes.</p><p>The air grew heavy and the sound of his steps were muffled by an ambient noise ringing through his ears. If any other sound existed, there was no way to tell. No matter how far Harry walked, he could not escape the ever-present darkness. Still walking at a quick pace, Harry scanned the area around him, consistently moving his head back and forth and back and forth as to not mistake anything seen in his peripheral vision. However, with every step towards the Hospital Wing, the darkness around him only seemed to grow more solid. Suddenly, behind him, before him, above him undefinable messy shapes came to life, hovering mere centimetres from his skin, and a cool dread seeped into every part of his being. Harry was certain he was going to die. One misstep was the only necessity to seal his fate. His heart thundered violently, without restraint, and every last fibre screamed at him to run. Run until he escaped the suffocating darkness.</p><p>
  <em>“Lumos Maxima!”</em>
</p><p>The darkness retreated. Nothing. The corridors were vacant save for himself. Harry felt utterly foolish, even more so when several paintings awoke to scold him, though he refused to put the light out. Still trying and failing to shake the feeling of danger, Harry walked briskly through corridors, scanning his surroundings as if there were a Death Eater lurking around every corner.</p><p>It was not long before he reached the first floor, flying past the Great Hall, he stared ahead to see if Pansy was propped up against the corridor just outside the Hospital Wing as she had done so many times before. However, no one was to be seen and Harry hoped she was not inside. Without pausing, Harry barged into the Hospital Wing and closed the doors immediately behind him to secure the flimsy barrier.</p><p>
  <em>“Nox."</em>
</p><p>Most of the beds were left vacant, although there were noticeably one or two new occupants Harry had not seen before. One bed, the one he knew to be Malfoy’s, shifted slightly and a head appeared from the blankets tightly clumped together, forming a small mountain. White-blond hair that appeared otherworldly in the rouge rays of moonlight stuck out disobediently in every which direction, overshadowing heavy-lidded eyes that seemed confused by their surroundings. Despite his hair not being nearly as his own on a good day, Harry smothered the urge to laugh at his appearance.</p><p>“Potter?” asked Malfoy, his voice weak from sleep, while squinting in his general direction.</p><p>“I came to return your wand,” he said in a hushed tone.</p><p>Picking the wand from his pocket and replacing it with his own, Harry held the Hawthorne wand up so that Malfoy could see. There was no rush of joy on the other boy’s face as he expected there to be. No, Malfoy sank timidly into himself, pulling up the covers until they reached his next and contemplated the wand like it were bomb bound to explode any second.</p><p>As if he were approaching a bird ready to take flight, Harry walked deliberately to the side of his bed, being careful to fall short a metre. Under the covers, Malfoy peered out at him the way a child would peer at an open closet door. For the first time in a long time, Harry saw Draco Malfoy. He did not see Malfoy the snivelling, whining prat he had grown used to, nor did he see Malfoy as the beautiful, well-groomed aristocrat that the pureblood girls fell over themselves in vain attempts to draw his attention their way. Harry saw a boy with no choice. A boy the same age as him.</p><p>Harry brought the wand closer, and deathly cold skin brushed against his. An icy burn festered where Malfoy’s skin had touched his own, and Harry almost snatched his hand away. When Malfoy retracted his hand, wand in tow, Harry stepped backward, almost tripping over another bed as he distanced himself from the other boy. Malfoy, seemingly unaware, or more accurately unsympathetic to his plight, waved his wand about in short motions that suggested he was confirming its authenticity.</p><p>“I forgot to bring it earlier, and I thought you’d want it,” when Malfoy had not responded as Harry had expected him to, he continued needlessly, “So I wanted to give it to you.”</p><p>“Why?” he croaked out after a brief silence.</p><p>Harry shrugged, pretending to not notice Malfoy’s demeanour, “It’s yours, isn’t it?”</p><p>Once the first tear broke free, the rest followed in an endless stream. Malfoy bent forward, hiding his face from Harry’s view. Although, he could still see as tears fell silently onto the sheets beneath him, hovering momentarily before continuing downward. An unsteady hand curled around his shoulder in a self-soothing gesture, tugging at the nightshirt which shifted to reveal the shape of a collarbone obstructed by a singular white scar that snaked downward, disappearing under the cloth, and Harry imagined it continued across most of his chest.</p><p>“Also, I’m sorry… for,” Harry gestured at Malfoy’s chest, “Yeah.”</p><p>A moment passed. Malfoy looked down at his chest, which was still covered in a black tailored nightshirt. However, in that moment, it did not seem to matter, as Harry could see the white scars that dug into Malfoy’s skin regardless of the nightshirt; and, according to the expression on Malfoy’s face, this was the case for him as well. Then, Malfoy tore his gaze away, choosing to instead stare at his wand like it was something disgusting to behold.</p><p>“Leave… Please leave,” Malfoy whispered intently, still staring at the wand in his hands as tears continued silently down the sides of his reddened cheeks.</p><p>Once again, an obnoxious part of him demanded that he stay. For what exactly, he could not know, which made the feeling all the more confusing. So, instead, Harry merely nodded his head, watching as a new wave of tears erupted forth from Malfoy’s eyes, and made his way, stumbling carelessly, towards the Hospital Wing’s door. When the door fell shut, Harry heard the first sob crack loudly against the silent night air. Another ugly sob ripped through the silence, holding all the pain of a person being murdered. For a moment, Harry wanted to help Malfoy in any way he could. He left instead.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>